We are wine with cake
without calories, not
like icing or drunkenness,
but being frosted with intoxication.
We are stain glass caked
with sunbeams, holding light
suspended in time, like if right now,
just this once, it was standing still.
We are fragile but delicious,
like little Eiffel Tower replicas
made from buttery sugar— not hardened—
but the soft store bought kind without directions.
But I’m pretty sure we aren’t
a car window's fracture pattern
caked with cracks,
or shards of a beer bottle
in splattered birthday cake,
or even a recycling plant’s office celebration with catering.
Unless it was really good catering.
So to clarify…
you glass
me cake