When love comes, one can forecast
That cake will be the next thing to find.
Because it is plentiful and sweet,
Cementing the mysterious meet,
Hiding you together behind its blind.
When love develops, one may splurge on
A cake for two . . . or one hundred and two
Because it treats both our lips
Leading to a heart eclipse
Ushering in love’s stately debut.
When love happens, one never expects
That cake will be the thing to regret.
Because it fills the hole,
Creating a punch bowl,
Making you turn away the baguette.
When love retreats, one can only hope
That death will be as tasty as the cake
Because it moves with unmatched melancholy
Perusing the path of the last trip trolley
Toasting our end without heat or mistake