Cake Shop

I am folding myself into you,
Like bits of stolen fruit, into the batter,
A redolent, unanticipated pocket of cinnamon
Spicing the bread dough;
Sodden with buttery dreams.
Your nose twitches in anticipation
Your hands start to open and close,
Wishing to grasp it-
If you taste but one tiny spoonful
It will instantly be on your clothing
And your hands and your face,
Drizzling down to pool itself at your shoes;
Dripping, advertising itself there:
And the bell ringing then and everyone shouting
“Look! Look! ” he has been having a taste!
Then you will have to run away
Or they will think you have eaten
The whole thing.
They will want you to pay for it, then.
And when you have run away
Then I will open my cake shop, all alone-
On Wednesdays, free samples had by all.
But for you the price must always remain
More than you are willing.

by Patti Masterman

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