Poems about love and baking
need me, but just barely.
My love is like cinnamon rolls
Good things take time and hard work,
but if you rise to the occasion and roll with the punches
you’ll be rewarded.
Over-the-top decadence, a sweet creamy dream.
Swirls of chaos and sticky fingers.
It’ll be too much, but never enough
My love is like buttermilk biscuits
Cold, sour, salty, messy.
No need to get too mixed up in our own inconsistencies.
But, darlin’ if you keep your distance and play it cool
need me, but just barely,
I’ll melt in your mouth when the time is right.
My love is like hot water cornbread
simple as snapping your fingers,
fast, steamy and greasy
easy like small talk over a kitchen stove
I’ll devour you when you’re hot and fresh with earthly delights from the garden
then I’ll savor you later with a few friends and neighbors
My love is like baklava
Drenched in expensive, exotic ingredients,
this creation has a situation.
Our history is layered, multicultural and NUTS!
And you love every bite, despite my flakey tendencies
.
Thanks for joining me on the baking poetry blend. Hopefully these aren’t half-cooked. Come back another time when I do beignets and Brazilian cheese balls!
Here’s what I’ve been learning about this week.
- I went to a girls sleepover this weekend where I made cinnamon rolls, which partially inspired this poem. But at the sleepover we discussed two quotes about not knowing anything. One by Socrates and one by Bukowski. I’ll quote Bukowski below it’s a bit easier to officially find and credit than Socrates:
“The problem with the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.”
-I read half of this Paris Review interview with writer Fran Lebowitz from 1993. I didn’t have the subscription to finish it, but the first half was fun.
- I really want to listen to Ani Difranco’s five albums she can’t live without.