Perish

The paintings done,

it's off the stove,

there's no chance to burn,

but there's no need to preserve

I'll leave you out,

without a frame or glass,

without refrigeration,

a Marshall,

or any means to last

I know your peak is perishable,

I want to be there to see,

erosion on your face,

molds upon your yeast,

and the fires at your feet

You will be adored freshly printed, served, and new,

but beauty is,

seeing you've faded too