The Toaster's Reflection

In the slumbering depths of the kitchen drawer, the clock hands blink beyond the closed vision of dreams. Below sunken bread, the steam of a forgotten morning hovers, whispering silent warmth.

Crumbs fall like digitally captured prisms, painting warm trails in delicate ink. An echo of wistful humming, tinged with

"My toast reflects the echoes of its crisp beginings, shimmering in electric dulcet embrace."