My pen shall be my mixing spoon,
I swirl with words a plenty.

The oven-like page,
a place it cooks
developing as scribes treat.

Poem rises
with colorful phases
inside mixture.

Moment brews visions,
ready to explode with flavor.

And soon my cake is done,
with all the trimming
of a creative poem.

It cools in readers eyes
for those ready to feast.
Worry not...
Its contents are not fattening.