Chocolate Cake

Whisk the flour, baking soda, salt, and cocoa together, Until each one is indistinguishable I mix, my two hands steadily gripping the bowl The metal cold against my fingertips. The grains of flour, of cocoa, Dust on their own, ingredients in a group Like a flock of birds In the air, A flower field, acres of daisies, roses, lilies, an array of color. Crack the eggs, mix the butter, add the sugar I do as I’m told, maybe that will fix it, Does doing it “right” really fix anything? Is dust meant to function in the first place? Into the oven it goes, 350 farenheight, Heat, pressure, creating a velvety dessert The ingredients marrying each other in the steam A bacchanal of flavor, and I, the observer. The cake cools on my countertop, A saccharine aroma fills the kitchen, The fragrance a shock to the stagnant air Polluted by me, just me. The cocoa, the flour, the cake as a whole Rely on each other for purpose, That purpose, derived from joyous union Like a cream colored flower just out of my reach. I have made an entire cake
It’s taste dangerously delicate in my mouth I could eat the whole thing! And yet, it’s as if it exsists only in my mind Like a bird, alone in the sky Like a flower in winter, single in the snow Like a cold metal bowl, sitting in the sink A speck of dust, floating in the wind.