Certainly (NOT) Cool

The cone shaped biscuit can hardly contain
the whipped white cream.
It runs as if the tears of a clown
from the overhang of the cornet
to meet my heated hand.
Faster it rolls,
leaving behind
a river of milky ripples.

Making one final leap,
it splashes down on my sandal.
Oh, what a place to come to rest;
if only I'd noticed
before entering...'Pleasure Land’