Sense Sonnet - Acher

 Death's Grip

Death did have a firm grip on me

Lying in bed, but then the smell

Of sugar cookies came to be.

The wife was baking I could tell.

So I dragged myself downstairs to

The kitchen table where they lay,

Hundreds of cookies, and I knew

That before death would have its way,

I would savor one last delight.

So I did grip a cookie and,

Still in death's grip, started to bite.

A spatula did slap my hand.

"For the funeral," the wife said.

I dropped the cookie and dropped dead.