She's on the left, half rising from her chair,
her lowered eyes on me, for I'm that cake.
Intently, in a predatory prayer,
she leans towards the action she must take;
and there, I clown her age in scarlet wax,
hopelessly, and offer her that flame
that leans as she does. Past her parents' backs
some dappled shadow haunts containing frames
and silent yellow roses. Is there doubt
still lingering between that yearning light
and those approaching lips? This doesn’t say;
nor will the candle count itself blown out
as long as limpet pixels crowd out sight
or cakes live on, forgotten for the day.
note to self: do sth with "wax" l. 14 (verb & noun), need next word to be both adj and verb, "forgotten" is negotiable
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