Wedding cake

What is the taste of time
a year from now? Will it be
       as sweet?
 A mixture of
    emotions
perhaps;
        like woven strings
threaded together
    and bound into
             a coat; rough
          but warm and sturdy—
     For whom is the wind sculpting?
         What is each crest and trough
     but tattoos of devotion
          carved directly into stone?
   In each crevice,
a rhythmic pattern,
    like curves in the sand:
each line inevitable,
       travelling side by side
    to where the end
meets the beginning