Like a beckoning whisper
the fragrance teases me.
The ghost of another's satisfaction
and I am jealous.
I glance over the bright packs of infusions
on the shelf,
none suggest such a rich and pungent experience.
I see the cake:
Soft, dark, thickly-sliced,
Plump currants glisten like jewels.
Placed on a cobalt edged plate.
Four pieces: one for each guest:
Assurance that one is for me.
Delight in discovery,
the smell: not a memory but an invitation.
Can earth show more grace than fresh-baked cake
brought at four o'clock?
Warm and moist, sweet and spicy.
A gift I will let my lips and my heart receive.