You’re barked and blackened,
charred at the rim,
a crust that says keep back,
like smoke guarding flame.
But I know the truth—
beneath that rugged hide
lies a tenderness, slow-braised
by years of fire and time.
Your words may sear,
sharp as hickory bite,
yet your laughter lingers
like sweet molasses heat.
You’re tough only in show,
a cut earned by struggle,
but slice through the surface
and the heart is soft,
marbled with kindness,
juices running deep.
Friend, you are brisket:
rough to the touch,
tender to the soul,
a feast best shared
with patient love.