cinnamon nymph

i tell the cinnamon my secrets

it listens and tells me it loves me and

it'll be okay

and finally

i rise again,

finding that there's

worlds to conquer.

but when there's cinnamon there's an

ache in that pretty little head

of yours.

but when there's cinnamon,

there's you,

engulfing me in a soft embrace

and gingerly brushing my hand with

your tender fingers

and entangling me in a warm forest

with the vines of that pretty hair of yours.

cinnamon,

that pile of delicious dust,

slows my heart and

gently liberates that clogged river

flowing freely,

dripping from my chin to

the cold floor beneath.

and i know you'll wrinkle that cute

little nose at the mention of

cinnamon,

and i know in spite of it all,

when i stand in the shadow

of night with the

pale light of

early morning creeping through the

curtains,

clutching desperately a jar of

cinnamon

against my chest,

i'll be warmed with the

presence of you.