Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2020
I look down at my plate, watching as melted whipped cream flows, ebbing on the lip of the dish. Orange zest peeks out from beneath golden debris. Although I do not see it, vanilla dances on the nose, twirling clementines below. 

It's more of a symphony than it is a meal. Defacing it with one scoop, a loop, and a swallow.

“This is the worst rendition of southern peach cobbler.”
Jordan
Written by
Jordan  32/M/New York
(32/M/New York)   
144
   Holly D
Please log in to view and add comments on poems