My Cardboard Balcony

Shaking Cream by Belinda Roddie pow, pop, sizzle, stir, drizzle in the syrup, firm the dough, and plow the cinnamon with both hands (and a spoon). crack, sip, sigh of relief. flour's in your hair, your cheeks are chocolate-coated candies for your lover to eat. hush, calm, let it rise, cake fork stuck below your eye. the crumbs fall down your shirt in a cheap but rocking flannel blur. oops, watch the caramel dripping down your neck, he stoops to kiss the stickiness off your mother's apron. beep. turn. lips.

The Grand Baron's Hall was full of red paupers distributing full flutes of sharp mead, poured fresh and honeyed from a boar-hide flask. Marquis Gregarus was busy eyeing the candied the ham with zeal, his wife clinging to his bulbous arm. "When do you suppose the Baron will arrive?" she whispered in his ear. "Hopefully not before I eat this thing," said the Marquis.