Inspired by the title of Michael Ondaatje’s poetic masterpiece, “The Cinnamon Peeler.”

Barely perceptible, the last of the sun’s rays
cosset behind
a soft grey cloud, slowly
almost enough to steal away one’s breath,
almost, but oh, it is nothing,
nothing in comparison to—

He is a cinnamon peeler; unrivaled,
do not follow his lead,
for you will end up covered in amber dust,
your lips,
your fingertips and collarbone tainted
and smeared,
become as though a mural of flavours robust—
cardamom, hint of nutmeg
vanilla and boldness of saffron;
calculated so as to arouse carnal instincts,
you will fall without complaint,
trust me,
like waves white on an empty beach.

I shower with the lights off,
leaving just a bit of visibility for comfort;
to see passion lining the shelves,
and to remain standing—
I never knew of taste before I looked
into his eyes,
never knew what cinnamon affair would do
to poetry, to small of back,
a heat of a whisper,
I continue to think and watch as thoughts fog up
the mirror,
is it possible to disguise once you have
owned the scent?
I confess that I envy his bedsheets,
for they need not hide.

I am inebriated; for combination is near perfect,
a sort of visual delight,
strawberries with cinnamon cream,
in ways we aren’t taught,
the blackness of night dissolves,
and soon
it becomes difficult to tell apart sighs,
I caress his curves
while gaze is suspended in a mirror,
in a city governed by spices,
soft petals that fall and sway with the wind
again and again,
he is a cinnamon peeler; unrivaled.





Photo credits: Cinnamon Stick on a Froth by Polina Kovaleva, Pexels.

Merril hosts at dVerse and invites us to write inspired by a list of twenty-
five herbs,
spices, flavours and spice combinations. Come join us! ❤

Posted for Poetics: Spicing it up @dVerse Poets Pub