Cinnabon, O Cinnabon

(This topic was a challenge from my husband--although I have bothered to spell it correctly.)

 

Cinnabon, O Cinnabon

 

My Love is fond of many savory feeds,

Eschewing sweets, he vows to carry on,

But lo! The depth of hidden knavery deeds,

To place upon his lips a Cinnabon.

In truth his palate runs toward stinky cheese,

Of tang and tart his preferential norm,

Defying logic, he’ll ingest to please

A tongue that craves exotic spice so warm.

That aromatic waft assaults the nose,

Caressed with rarest Indonesian bark,

It beckons at each airport where he goes,

The moment he begins to disembark.

But tragedy has struck a favorite store--

My darling’s Cinnabon exists no more.