I heat the spoon
to cut through the ice +cream more smoothly
Melt a milky path.
I raise it over the stove-top
which burns in deep crimson
slowly warms the silver spade
Then I plow, through layers of cream
like some archaeologist with an unappeasable sweet tooth
I scoop and level my findings onto, apple-pie, or dark fudge, or fruits.
There’s the stuff that makes the young or old, ladies and gents
tongues twist, and mouths drip with anticipation.
and it never last long.