Biscuits and Gravy: Anatomy of despair

              Behold the sodden loaf! I want my readers to imagine in their minds eye the incestuous love child of Hephaestus and Athena. Behold the glory of the smith's hammer coupled with the wit of noble Pallas. It is a thing too glorious to conceive. Nowhere in reality can we find an equal, except, perhaps in the creation before thee; the noble wonder that is Biscuits and Gravy. 
            First the gravy: so young, so tender; supple as new shoots of asparagus or a puppy's pink upper gum. It swallows whole the biscuits like the Red sea did the Egyptian armies of young Ramses. Where is  Moses to lead these lost biscuits to my mouth?! He is my fork, poised, ready to convey the biscuits to the freedom found inside the mouth parts and chewing mandibles of mine heavenly chastity. 
             The biscuits: Has one ever held a newborn leopard in their hands? or perhaps a piece of moonstone? nay, I yearn to clutch the tears of christ himself! Tears that fell from divine lids onto the the dusty slopes of Golgotha. From thus sprung forth these biscuits, like warriors from the dragon teeth Cadmus sowed. Biscuits to lovingly defile with copious spoonfuls of the erogenous gravy liquid. 
            Tell me man what do you know of life?  Have you heard the plaintive toll of a Spanish guitar as the moon rises over Cordoba? Have you sat up to watch the sun rise over Rome while you made love on the Spanish Steps? Have you experienced the all encompassing solitude of a mountain wilderness? Do you know of death and despair? Can you speak of these things with me? Nay, not until thou hast tasted these biscuits. Only then can a man truly love.