Perched on a crispy waffle cone,
the two icy scoops glisten in the bright sun,
one flavor atop the other,
enjoying their differences,
yet their common company.

The rays beat down,
a stress the sugary treat cannot withstand;
the pressure, the severe pain;
their weaknesses crumble;
strengths questioned.

In one swift motion the flavors are melting,
streams of chocolate and strawberry swirling,
in a fog of confusion,
they are no longer themselves.

The intertwined colors drip to the sidewalk,
falling apart,
ripping bonds as the heat takes over.

The cone begins softening,
questioning its own existence.

The end is near,
the foundation almost too soggy
to bear these two scoops.

The ice cream cone seeks shelter,
a cold place where heat doesn't exist,
a place where there is no destruction,
a place of bliss.