Butternut creams

Butternut creams have a way of
Finding their way down the shelves
Of the kitchen larder;
Round and crumbly, warm and fresh
They jump down, into eager hands
Of hungry children.
They leave evidence, so naturally;
Crumbs, scattered over the stone floor.
Our dog licks them up,
(Who will notice... no one!)
Until mum comes home:
"What's that smeared all over your mouth?"
Ah! The butternut creams have disappeared?
The ghost must have visited us again!

What could have been

Could you take me home and love me
Without a trace of lust?
Then watch me age, not gracefully
But covered in dust.
Could you hold my gaze for minutes
Without one wayward glance?
You could let me know
But I won’t give you a chance.