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I was taken to dinner

Creme Caramel

At the right hand middle corner
Of the big square white plate
The teaspoon held a mouthful of
A delicious creamed berry mix.
A gulp of anticipation.

The floor of the big white plate
Had been drizzled with chocolate
Before the artisan began.

He knew I would cocoa.

At eleven o'clock
He froze an iced cream chocolate spattered
Concoction
Quite early
To readily ooze to spoon softness.
Then at ten to six
There was the crème
Small mounded and sugar scattered
Just waiting for his blow torch.
He applied his flame
With one arm behind his back to
Bunsen and burn
The fine sweet scatterings
To caramel thin crustiness.

I sigh in my seat
Pick up my spoon and fork
Decide I must destroy
This work of beautiful art.
Because the artist says I ought to.

I smile into his happy eyes
We both become so sated.

It's a food thing.

Poetry by limber junctionson
Read 486 times
Written on 2008-07-01 at 03:27