Mostly blurs of grays and gray-blues:
An auction table covered in cakes and numbers
Numbers and cakes barred behind their numbers,
hardly breathing through fondant girdles
Somewhere near the end of the table
one cake, untaken, even though it is dressed
The baker had envisioned it to furnish some wedding with honeysuckle white
blossoms, the sugar-snow tiers of cloud-blush layers like a mountain spire
with no crown.
In spite of all his sweat there are no takers
No wedding suitable today for white on white on white
The brides all preferred Splenda in their frosting.
The unclaimed cake baubles, no, quakes under the midday heat
Bubbles travel to the frosted face to mouth slow oh’s, icing buttresses, then streams
A moat of travesty confined to the overburdened plate
Where the uncalled-for cake splatters
fatter and fatter
Blinded, choking in its own buttered excess.
By Roozitaa – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=25457369