Breakfast invitation.

A bowl, sliced bananas covered with Frosted Flakes.
Tony Tiger Terrific.
My favorite, left out just for me.
But who knows this about me?
Who'd leave this here, knowing I'd be by if it weren't meant for me?
Nobody would know this.
It's not for me.
It belongs to another,
someone who stepped out to fetch a spoon,
or a glass of orange juice.
But not for me.
But then somebody just like me, maybe someone who likes the same things.
With tastes for flakes and nanners?
A match, and a Grrrrreat one at that.
I'll wait. With spoon in hand, eager.
But not so close, how rude.
But milk makes flakes wilt if left so long.
Watching,waiting. Hungry.