Cake

Like big mouthfuls of cake
And frosting roses that sicken,
I am tempted by love -
I don't know how to stop.

Whipped cream roses have
A different constitution
Light, fluffy, impossibly correct,
Only the refined consume these.

My cake must overwhelm me
With a sugared top that hardens.
I don't care whether others approve,
I insist on being ill with pleasure.

Everyone can see where this is going -
We all know that cake gets stale.
How sad the bits that are left behind,
Old icing stuck to the box...