brigadeiro is usually eaten cold but he stirred it up to warm us

and we ate it hot with a spoon in between laughs and sips of cheap red wine

and I told him he was changing my life with the brigadeiro

but really that’s not what I meant.

when it was time for me to go he sent me off with the thick sweet stuff

still warm from the stove pot

heating up the inside of a square tupperware container

(he asked me how we say tupperware where I’m from. it turns out we say it the same.)

It’s cold and congealed in my refrigerator now

and every morning I pull off a piece

it stretches like silly putty

and in it I taste the condensed milk  that he fed me with a spoon

then kissed off my lips.

it was sweet and good in his kitchen.

it is sweet and not good in mine.

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