snow shower —
a plate of fries
drenched in salt
snow shower —
i am drowned in it
spilt salt
snowflakes —
at finger tips
salted fries
noticing
the weight of snowflakes
poured salt
such an accumulation
of sunshine…
squeezed mustard
golden sunset
drips down…
squeezed mustard
sun on the horizon…
a dollop of mustard
rises
evening sun
sitting for a while…
a dollop of mustard
dwindling sunshine
the mustard drips slowly
from the bottle
dappled sunlight
a long burst of mustard
from the bottle
Spices fill your turn-style racks
Utensils tall, tall as the eyes can see
are stacked upon granite, ice skate counters.
Grinders and graters can be found up, up high
into your Himalayan cupboards
Ah, SugaMama, let us make some cakes.
We will mingle with the eggs,
galvanize the oils – essential –
butter and splash us the white stuff.
Add in a few spoons full of sugar
and pinch that salt.
Hold me as I mould the goo batter
into sculptures of tropical birds
and galaxy stars.
Ah, SugaMama lets make gummy cakes,
flaky biscuits and sticky-finger tarts.
Lets gather our mouth-watering treasures
and travel to the park.
We can sprawl, yeah spread it –
sit under mighty trees and listen to the chorus
of crows cawing and plotting their murder
while we swipe away dribbled frosting
from on our sweet-smelling innocent fingers.
SugaMama shall we fluff up our blue blanket
and hit it? Head for the sky? Pretend
that we’re sitting on our own slice of cloud –
smiling and laughing –
point at the doe with her young babe springin’
watch them as they explore the buttercups.
SugaMama, o’ SugaMama gazing eyes
of hypnotic swirl, melting my chocolate,
strawberry and butter-cream.
The swirls Mama, those magical whipped whirls.
Lets catch a ride and travel to the stars.
To the scrumptious cosmic pixies waitin’ for us –
I just know it.
Bug celestial eyes and fiery, gaseous curls.
SugaMama can’t you see them?
Can we dance with them, SugaMama?
Bat your eyelids at their shimmering nova dress.
Twinkling pearls, are those ash-trailing asteroids
around their slender necks?
SugaMama, o’ sweet-smiling SugaMama,
lets tap naked with our naked feet,
snap happy fingers and watch the showering stars
come crashing when we crash –
it’s the sugar, Mama.
madasahatter572 