Lemon Pound Cake, you lure me,
My lovely citrusy Circe,
Your lemony glaze a tart sea
Into which I want to dip my toes
And wiggle them around.
Lemon, oh lemony Lemon Pound Cake,
Your moist denseness recalls
The plump flesh of a sly virgin goddess,
Sweet with two cups of cane sugar,
Bitter with wicked wiles
And freshly zested lemon.
You are my goddess.
Lemon Pound Cake, my seductress,
You encircle me like the Bundt pan
That once encircled you
With its strong, non-stick arms
Made of a material
I do not believe is aluminum.
But I am not sure.
Lemon Pound Cake, my love,
What I know is that
You were left with a gaping hole
That can be filled
Only with macerated strawberries
And a splash of Grand Marnier.
And maybe a sprig of fresh mint.
I fear I am not the one who can fill your hole.
Oh, Lemon Pound Cake, my temptress...
Frolicking in the dappled light
Of an enchanted forest
thick with leafy citrus trees,
Buttery yellow orbs enticing the weary
And monkeys here and there
Swinging gently from the branches.
Your rich buttery goodness
Beckons me
To exquisite lemony doom.
I am lost.
5 comments:
The image of a lemon bundt cake "frolicking" in the forest is going to stick with until world's end.
Yay! I've made a difference!
I am now desperate for this recipe - could you share?
(Your cocktail party looked nicely swanky.)
Melinda: Of course! I'll post it or maybe send it to your email. It is SOOO good. But I guess you've gathered that already.
And Wingal: FYI, it's from the book you gave me for Christmas...so it's kind of like you were at the party too.
You'll have to make it at Rusticana... if the cottage has a bundt pan. Besides, we can't be together and not have cake!
Wait... that's not really what I meant... oh God, I'm tired.
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