To see you still half full, still half un-drunk
The car interior warming 'til alas thick coldness wanes
Leaving but a tepid, gooey, chocolate gunk.
'Tis Samuel, sweet son, to whom you belong
Who sips but tiny sips then puts you down
While my own milkshake long be gone
And wanting more, yet only his be found.
Milkshake, art thou doomed to go unfinished?
To sit and curdle, urgency unheeded?
'Tis cruel to me, but more than joy diminished
Like a life not fully lived, like summer not completed.