Ingredients for 6-8 people
• 4 egg whites
• 2 egg yolks
• 100 g (1/2 cup) of sugar or 5 tablespoons of fruit sugar (alter to your own preference)
• 500 g (2 1/2 cups) of mascarpone cheese
• 4 small coffee cups of espresso coffee
• marsala wine (or brandy or cognac)
• 400 g of savoiardi or lady fingers (sponge cake fingers)
• dark chocolate powder
Preparation
1. Make espresso coffee, sweeten, and add the marsala wine (or cognac) to it. Let it cool a bit.
2. Separate the egg yolks and the whites of two eggs in two bowls.
3. Beat sugar into the egg yolks.
4. Beat the mascarpone into the sweetened yolks.
5. Add two more egg whites to the other two and whisk until they form stiff peaks.
6. Fold gently egg whites into mascarpone mixture.
7. Quickly dip both sides of the ladyfingers in the espresso mixture.
8. Layer soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone in a large bowl or pan (start with fingers, finish with mascarpone).
9. Sprinkle dark chocolate powder on top.
10. Refrigerate for one hour.

╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Coffee-soaked ladyfingers
Sweet amaretto
Mascarpone, eggs, sugar =
thick vanilla cream
Layer on fingers
Dust cocoa
Chill!
╰⊰✿⊱╮

I keep slicing reality
With the Knife of Reason,
Yet brushing winds
Carry scents of hope.

Neuron connections of
Misconceptions -
Is that causation
Or empty words?

I keep dicing my days
Climbing the ego
Of a shoreless mind
You keep coming my way
Wearing nothing but bands
Around your thighs -
Limelight moments.
Ticking clocks.
Shivers
Down my spine.

A satisfied appetite is a simply joy

Overlooked and simplified

Like a growing urge, a salivating need

That is entrancing and glorified.



Everlasting for moments we call meals

Forgotten in time, lingering above

But the taste, the lonesome lover pushed aside

Gazes afar and near wanting to be enjoyed again



The young lady with a tongue of raspberry delight

And the matured widow with darkened cacao lips

Ripening nectar of a sliced peach center

Halved and topped with mascarpone crème



The man with a skin of caramel glaze

Caressing and savoring

With a fragrance and scent

Of hazelnut coffee indulgence and sin



In the pursuit of a brief love affair

What oral sensation did my taste buds want?

My odyssey of gustatory endeavors await

Through the seas of lined people and waiting staff



Generous portions and humble pies

Decadent desserts so rich you’ll die


Vine cherry tomatoes sliced and sauté

Over al dente rigatoni in a roasted cashew sauce

A robust aroma and savory appeal

Basil leaves with garlic strips

Olive oil to top the surreal


Hubristic meatball aborigine  

Elysian cuisine or many dreams


Teasing the senses, warming the pit

Of flowing pleasures

And tingling fingertips

Without moral measures

And succulent wines

Rotisserie lamb falling of the bone

Seasoned with Sicilian herbs

And paired with broiled asparagus

Drizzled with lemon juice


And a glass of Merlot

Spices I hardly know



Lachrymose apologies beside a bottle of faded sorrows

With love there is pain, passion endured through the names

Thin soups, flavorless and dull, feeding street-thrown bums

Breathing hard against the delicatessen glass


Hickory smoked hams, pepper-seasoned pastrami

Vinegar cultured pickles and hard dried salami


Unpleasured, without measure, at one's leisure.
Forever my endeavor

Blackcurrant tea laced with slivers of gooping honey
Layers of cinnamon hair atop olive skin

red-painted doors with cedar trim
crushed almonds mixed with hazelnut butter cream spread

devilish rounds of crumbling ***-swirl bread

Smells and wonders, tastes so ...

oh god

Divine and sublime.

You know the morning comes
with the ridged mirror thumbprint
post-shower, a buffoon on the news
with his breakfast’s semi-skimmed
still lingering on his lip.          Oh! There’s a wedding dress,
white mascarpone tones put the nation
in a hellish spin… They’re miming
about this online, believe it,
their history teachers know it
and they shoot their cars up with paracetamol;
doctors say it’s the best way
to keep the numbers
down to single digits.

Girl boy something other, you’d better
check those socials because
a no-faced stranger may incorrectly spell
mascarpone, how ***!! stop it you look,
not the waxy sheen of your blemished
history, and the rain, those scrawny
black instruments are done for,
we shimmy in semi-skimmed now
because the movies said so
and you must believe every word,
each glitzy syllable is like
a paracetamol shot,
you’re missing out, you’ll forget
so I’ll say it again, not really
‘cause you’re reading, you’re missing

breakfast’s ready.

i'm not Agatha Christie in terms of volume,
but i still feel a sickness
      when i'm the foetus
    and someone cuts my hands off
          that are attached to the umbilical cord
that's the mother that's the keyboard that's
    the cyber web, and what not.
i guess it's unforced haiku incision:
    poetry or how to keep a **** in yer ***
in a crowded train...
           they always say that: keep it to yer self...
true that, but when it's waking up in the early
morn and ******* hangover, even the Chinese
poets would applaud the effort...
                     excusing the pristine haiku and rhyme
and getting knee deep in **** -
sure i could have become an engineer
or an Apple pioneer talking about a revolution  
that never ends but actually ends when the next
revision pops up on the speedy shly
               for all 'tings said: Sean was always going
to say all things, a little bit shooner...
      Mish Tooshpencepenny -
                        he does say money-penny, against the obvious,
total badass spy work, that is.
the clocks are dead, the blinds are up, but it feels
like morning, as i lie in bed i know
it's the morning sun knocking on my eyes:
it's less dictatorial, actually everything feels less
dicta, there is no need to pass on the information
of any kind, imagine: morning sun and all the things
that desire for everything to be less rummaging -
the morning sun, a sketch of how it actually feels less
intrusive than what the hell happens in the afternoon...
to be exact, half past ten a.m.,
squash and contemplation of the anti-gentlemanly
consideration of a "stop the quirk **** reroute epi",
lapse into the metabolism, like any addiction:
worthy the romance, bro.
                       and no doctor could write a better prescription,
doctors are famous for their chicken-scratching
type of handwriting, they're one and truly kindred
to be in the white-pill mafia with only pharmacists
able to decipher what is generally thought to be a cipher
morse code...
                          now, if you ask me, i see a poem like
this and think: also a prescription,
              but less white-pill blue-pill and more a hook and
an offshoot for any analogous or otherwise narrative
in a person's daily hygiene / narrative;
i don't know, you might read this and automatically suggest
to yourself that you swallowed an octopus,
                 or that you drank some consecrated holy water
out of the benediction urn in a church...
                 whatever i did, i still remembered my first
lesson in sign language in a primary school playground,
five steps to say it:
a. left palm canvas
                   with index and ******* paintbrush
      slap
b. as           above, although reversed, slap with
         knuckle side of fingers
c. wedge a V / Y          of the index and middle
                            fingers to the side of the canvas (palm)
d. then make a fist and thump it against the palm,
e. the raise your thumb with the fist still intact
           and move it away from the left palm....
psst....
           you just said: y don't you f off?!
                                               oh not personally,
i'm just teaching you sign-language i learned as a kid,
passing on the genes, as it were....
                                             either that or it's me lying
in bed trying to think whether my body is the parasite
with a finite contract, or my ego is a parasite with
a deluded infinite contract - well mascarpone macaroons
to you too... don't know, just felt like saying,
what with the killer clown craze
             and the frivolous: ever dance with the devil
in the pale moonlight?             stance of the old waggler
being all hushy hushy, and not so much pushy pushy
in a public debate; for your eyes only ta d'ah!

with darwinism your day
to day doesn't really matter,
let's celebrate the atheists of
our age...
you matter as much as the 18th century,
meaning you don't, really, matter,
how's that for an ego boost?
i got it in communism or via,
but in capitalism, it's just licking
the guillotine to chop the *******'
cupcake necks off... and i'm waiting.
well you know poets,
they're not fond of the maxim:
true virtue is
uninhibited by criticism -
they're K9 plunged into the art
too frail to be honest
building ships with mascarpone glue
to align the geometries of what's ******* tight.

Look at me all fat from self indulgence
custard cream and chocolate pieces on my face
I barely take a breath
from my gluttony
See me swimming in a vat of cinnamon cream
Big juicy congealed bacon-fat emotions
And this little piggy is hungry

Everything you said was bad
has me spinning
Swimming in it now.
I'm flicking cheesecake at your conditioning
smearing mascarpone over my naked chest
without shame I don't
I don't have shame

Lock me up in your prison of doctrine
But I'll eat through that too eventually
Engorged in self release and painted in '**** that's'

Mousse feels good on my skin
Coats my teeth
Sherbet and berry compote in every orifice
Watch me choke on caramel
Choke on life

Laugh while I lapse into a sugar coma
And cover me in told-you-so's
While I come to,
Diving straight back in wearing only a smile

and Dutch accents
tangerine slides
pop-up tents
no guides
just the stars dancing eyes

calypso music
lobsters on sticks
waiter John Cusack
maid Stevie Nicks
mascarpone clouds
raining champagne
none of those crowds –
first class airplane

take me now!

Explain Hopeless  Also Resilience

The universe sows- difference to melancholy... those
plods of handkerchiefs, our mascarpone dessert
  is going for golden lucre mistakes,
   still we yearn.
Yet lore of strength... and music admired thearchy,
  streining people, people and pleasure
   and dodling as serfs.
Let us see... are the guardians,  immediacy returning?
Or is syphilis? As they languish-
  uptorn within theories and disease?
The champions of charm, still charm their ways beyond.
And the blank, evil, maladroit.. canonites and
denizens laughing at us?!
You midgets! You rein in a cat, tightening the drawn
leathur,  on the steering wheel!
Time to think about, whether,  a there there
is one on the windshield.
Let's drag it northern, evening time, with label
and remarks for a train to see.
An old varmint tries to say
"cool it.. wrong!"
Addressed by Jedidiah to stand today as Imoteph.
Hopefully marriage,  or the meaning of cool waters.
Yet, eminent domain unfolds, approaching time
has no ****** for the battle...  not safe nor,  daughters.
For everyone gets to get high.
And make to high ground in a hurry, tis an equity wing.
Whose this? I'm so sorry, I didn't call mocking a nuisance-
    of the Santa Ana wind.
It is dim after that.
She did fall and the stampede was okay.
Souls for the solar, far more than digging the punishment,
of autos versus freeing Mary Judge, semi adverse in the shade.
We're going to take our knives!
And your wounded young...
We gonna bring back to the killers!
...and (and)... their going to turn away and call you a
    ***** when you get married!
Imagine that.
A perfect princess wearing a blue dress...
We've never seen it before!
Only some sort of bodies- mess.
Her walking looks like a golden field rat.
So fast, devious, fully relaxed.
- As if you're about to kick a mimes but,
  the herbal kingdom in tow versus mercy shacks...
Has quiet a few doctors... as an earnest life,
  my sir and lady 'foolery' thought.
It seems very artsy,  that one is ashamed of
  bruises and the bloodshot.
'Oh this quagmire pie can join the back bone,
  hot on pay offs.
When what they have at the factory,
is touché Asian phone and answers all relent,
  of the same, sane, cognitive existence.

Yet bodies 'tra la la'  to corpses
... whose mine?
Should not rot lead to dirt..
Mix of the wretched Earth...
it's very beneficial when it's found...
  which is what greater doses or leaves
     of war-  appeal and abound.
The game sleeper trying.
Stated, again, as ignorant-
  as a feloric fox askew.
Redemption.
Amazing grace was done by the orator,
  bobbed, however, with modern translations.
Which then, was that which.
should not be, what now
is merely, the sentient that which is?
Could not all of this be over with and get done?!

Hateful, hopeless,  yet tuff, strong with resilience....

And that's what keeps going
on... and ... on... and ... on ... and ... on ...

Try to Explain Hopeless Yet Resilience

The universe sews difference to melancholy... those
plods of handkerchiefs
Our mascarpone dessert as golden lucre
mistakes still we yearn
Yet lore of strength and music admired thearchy straining
People, people and pleasure and dodling as serfs
Let us see... the guardians with immediacy returning
Or is syphilis as they languish- uptorn within theories and disease
The champions of charm still charm their ways beyond
And the blank evil maladroit.. canonites and
denizens laughing at us
You midgets! You rein in a cat tightening the drawn
leathur on the steering wheel!
Time to think about whether a there there
is one on the windshield
Let's drag it northern evening time with label
and remarks for a train to see
An old varmint tries to say
"cool it.. wrong!"
Addressed by Jedidiah to stand today as Imoteph
Hopefully marriage or the meaning of cool waters
Yet eminent domain unfolds approaching time
has no ****** for the battle not safe nor daughters
For everyone gets to get high and make to
high ground in a hurry tis an equity wing
Whose this? I'm so sorry I didn't call mocking
a nuisance of the Santa Ana wind
It is dim after that she did fall and the stampede was okay
Souls for the solar far more than digging the punishment
of autos versus freeing Mary Judge semi adverse in the shade
We're going to take our knives! and your wounded young...
we gonna bring back to the killers!...and (and)...
their going to turn away and call you a ***** when you get married!
Imagine that a perfect princess wearing a blue dress...
we've never seen it before! Only some sort of bodies mess
Her walking looks like a golden field rat
so fast devious fully relaxed
As if you're about to kick a mimes but
the herbal kingdom in tow versus mercy shacks
Has quiet a few doctors... as an earnest life
my sir and lady foolery thought
It seems very artsy that one is ashamed of
bruises and the bloodshot
Oh this quagmire pie can join the back bone
hot on pay offs
when what they have at the factory
is touché Asian phone
and answers all relent of the same
sane cognitive existence

Yet bodies tra la la to corpses
... whose mine?
Should not rot lead to dirt..
Mix of the wretched Earth...
it's very beneficial when it's found...
which is what greater doses or leaves
of war appeal and abound
The game sleeper trying
stated again as ignorant
as a feloric fox askew
redemption
amazing grace was done by the orator
who bobbed however with modern translations
Which then was that which
should not be what now
is merely the sentient that which is
Could not all of this be over with and get done?!

Hateful hopeless yet tuff strong with resilience....

and that's what keeps going
on... and ... on... and ... on ... and ... on ...