Despite the chill in the air
Silky, smooth rivulets of cream
Slide between my fingers that
Clutch the sugar cone.
My palm feels the ticklish, sticky
Drip, drip onto my shirt, my shoes
The unappreciative cold sidewalk.
My eyes moisten at the loss.
In heaven, my ice cream cone
Won’t meltingly flee before my
Helpless tongue can consume its
Soul-nourishing frozen manna.
And hell? The only fear of hell
That keeps me good and true:
In hell, there will be no enjoying