A Sprinkle of Cinnamon on the Toast

It has to have sugar with it
but when it does
the butter and sweet and spice combine
for a creamy rich sweetness
that rises right off of the surface
and dances through the air
meant only to reach the
olfactory cells
inside my sleeping nose
and hook me like a ring through a steer
dragging me up out of the bed
and ripping nostril from face
as the airy delight supports the
weight of my sleep-burdened legs
it pulls, not pushes,
my face towards the bright lights
that otherwise wrench my features
to a scowl, yet still trodding on to the source
of the enticing cinnamon aroma