That rosy plate

The plate is so pretty. So glossed.  It has roses on its sides and its glistens in the artificial light.  It's so sturdy but almost too fragile to touch.  A feast adornes this plate.  A feast that would feed the most sorrowful man.  He takes a seat grunting, looking at the stimulating sustenance.  He consumes the meal in the most decorous way. Kissing and licking the plate clean.  He wants more of the addicting nutriment.  But he has just eaten.  Couldn't he wait?  He searches and scrapes the fragile marble of the beautiful plate. Looking for more of the forage he might've missed.  But he finds nothing more of the feast he so desires.  So he arises from his pristine seat and goes about looking for the next charming dish.  Leaving the once pure and un-altered rosey plate a scraped up wretched mess. -EMJ.