I have a poem in the oven

I have a poem in the oven

I have a poem in the oven
but its not ready for to savor.
Half baked, perhaps,
but filled with tantalizing flavors.

I'm pleading with the timer,
peeking through the oven door.
The heat warms my nostrils,
juice is dripping to the floor.

Can't you smell the imagery,
aromas circling your snout,
imagine words from other worlds,
forming in your mouth.

Beep!, Can't your hear the sound?
Time for writers block to end.
The muse is finished baking
and its time for her to send

that freshly baked masterpiece,
the crust so crisp and clean,
full of inner wisdom,
destined for this brilliant screen.