Turning the wheel of my mechanic carriage,
I pull up close beside the menu of drinks.
With my mind being set I have advantage
to quickly order before the hot sun sets.
Sips of scalding black liquid, I do not desire
nor does my tongue want a blizzard cold mixture.
Shots of espresso would send taste buds haywire,
while mochas posess no caffine to measure.
For it is the sweet smelling spices I crave
in union with fluffy cloud-like cream on top
on this caffine fused delight of which I rave,
with autumn flavors whose pleasures never stop.
So as I drink my pumpkin spice latte up,
I enjoy my piece of heaven in a cup.