cinnamon

[Glorious Amok]

you creep toward me with the slowness of molasses
you soften, and open, and ooze
and move with hypnotic momentum.

you melt like chocolate left out in the sun
like butter in a saucepan, on a burner set just below one.

you drip like an icicle in early march mornings
you intrigue with the ferocity of cinnamon in coffee
you pass through my dreams like pollen in a heavy summer sunbeam,
barely visible, more believed in than seen.