Pages

Wednesday, 25 May 2016

Pudding poem

Cream is on the top the cake.
Humongous piece I take.
Emptied in minutes.
Eggs cracked in it.
Slices have vanished.   
Eager to take a bit.


Cream is smothered on my mouth.
Apricot is covered with it.
Keeping it to myself.
Every single day.