A Winter Poem

(Pretend this is morning, not night.)

when the world turns white
i think i am in a different
dimension
but it is just white powder
that has spilled over
everything
the sky
the ground
the trees
i know
even though i haven't
left this hearth of mine

i like to think that
the trees are carefully lined
in whipped cream
the roads drizzled
in chocolate syrup
the houses decorated
in multi-colored sprinkles
i don't know
but i rush out
in my pajamas
to observe this
peculiar new taste
on my tongue

and what sort of fetish
has overtaken me?