Ode to the "Qwasawwwn"

This morning I saw you in the glass starbucks case, and your golden, buttery exterior caught my eye. You looked fresh, which peaked my interest, stacked there amongst your comrades.

What did I want today? Were you on the list? No. But you took me by surprise. You don't have the brown promise of chocolate, or the blue distinction of embedded fruit. Neither do you have red ribbons of rhubarb, nor the sunny stickiness of a lemon tart. You don't offer the crisp edges of a toasted bagel, or the firm crumbliness of a vanilla scone. You don't flash your offer of morning satisfaction with loud, conspicuous appearance. You are subtle. You are a masterpiece of French ingenuity. You are melting, warm, soft, perfection.