Best eaten the same day

Everything about its making

Breaks the rules.

White flour, sweet oil

Tacky, cloying,

Proving itself

Thrice, to monstrous proportions.

A night in the fridge

Then twenty minutes

Searing, impossibly,

At maximum heat.

Why such excess?

A slab of gold

Came the reply.

Its first slice

Peeled from the ·knife,

Scents, air and softness,

Cloth of granulated cream, black marbled,

Held to my face,

Gone to my head,

Before the act of consummation.