Ode to a Cashew

Dear God, if I should die tomorrow, please reincarnate me as a cashew, so I can languish in a giant vat of shimmery cashew butter, swimming all day in its subtly understated, molten sweetness with all my bretheren. I love them. My cashew brethern. They get me. They sate me in a way that ice cream never could, they tickle my palate gently enough to leave me hungering for another bite. All day I dream of swirling my spoon inside my cashew butter container, feeling the spoon's heft give way to all that supreme creaminess. It's naturally sweet and perfectly silky, but nothing so assaulting to my tongue as peanut butter. It's not so bitter on its own like tahini and just plain better for you than oily Mr. Macadamia. I mean, who wants to swim in a vat of macadamia anyway?