The Dessert

The kitchen floats on oceans made of spice,

Where copper clouds of nutmeg softly gleam.

A clockwork sun is spinning out the rice,

And autumn wears a crown of braided cream.

Upon the counter, heavy gourds awake,

Their ribs of orange glowing neon-bright;

They melt into the batter for the cake,

And pour their liquid laughter through the light.

The coffee brews in comets, dark and deep,

A steaming river pouring from the moon.

The sleeping shadows stretch their arms and leap

To catch the sugar raining from a spoon.

A constellation bakes within the pan—

Cinnamon planets orbiting the wheat.

The greatest magic ever made by man:

A floating world that’s wonderfully sweet.