I have baked a raspberry soufflé what’s more,
An hour ago, because I had a gene;
It exists, a centerpiece, to simply mean,
And tantalize more than an apple core.
The light poured down on the pastry round,
Endearing it in several gorgeous ways,
Until it vanished, whilst the good work stays,
Not any more in weight or less in pound.
I should compare it to a lover’s sublime hair,
Or spoon it softly toward his parted lips,
But it is not for a person’s flashy hips,
Or made to decorate a separate stair.