No Tarte Bakery
Cup is empty, spilled
quarter by eighth
into cake of ashes,
bonedust. Spoon
minus table- and tea-.
Unhinged springform,
amorphous bundt. Sugar
dissolved, rippled
down drain. Powder, soda
whisked away. Praise
cookie no more,
praise nothing.
Once pie bubbled
golden with crowns --
not again. Rattle the lock,
lose the key. No taste,
no scent, no
filigree swirl
of icing. Not
a crumb.
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