"tiramisu" poems
╰⊰✿´ℒ♡ⓥℯ '✿⊱╮
Coffee-soaked ladyfingers
Sweet amaretto
Mascarpone, eggs, sugar =
thick vanilla cream
Layer on fingers
Dust cocoa
Chill!
╰⊰✿⊱╮
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 6:45 AM UTC
Table for one sir, a book my companion for a one-sided conversation
Restaurant conversations buzz around me with intimacies and angst
Pre-movie girlfriends split the bill for a bowl of gelato delightful chat
Spooning in the Italian atmosphere for the price of a McDonalds.
The repro man on my right boasts of dietary prowess to his fat date
On the rack for his gluttony assuaged by the second rack of lamb
Talking at each other I can feel the anguish of ugly gay loneliness
Italian waiters providing comfort in the form of tiramisu temptations.
Life the entertainment on Saturday night alone with ten pages read
A drink talking boy will sleep alone without his now cold girlfriend
Broadcasting life's loves and lies, everyone hears and nobody listens
The opera of living more tragic than Tosca and as brutal as Butterfly.
Rain soaked spirits sink on a trudge home to a lonely king-sized bed
Goodnight loved one Skyped intimacies a warming blanket of comfort
Sleep sweet dreams before the limousine blacked streets of tomorrow
Nearer to honey sweet kisses and close in my love’s warm bed “hello”.
Jan 21, 2012
Jan 21, 2012 at 11:26 AM UTC
To M.
See, I should have kissed you.
I should have kissed you when I had the chance to. Should have pulled you closer, stood on my tiptoes, my hand tightly clutching your neck, and kissed you full on the mouth. Should have run my fingers through your spiky hair, smiling as your arms closed around me.
I should have found you, the taste of tiramisu still on my lips, and I should have kissed you, giving you a taste of the happiness in a box that you'd handed me so timidly.
Your voice still rings loud and clear in my head, I hear it when I read your messages, that distinctive accent, eyebrows raised, cheekbones moving. And that smile, so sly and cunning, your lips slightly upturned. I should have kissed those lips when I had the chance to do so. Then and there, among tears and sporadic, almost desperate hugs, I should have kissed you. When you held on to me for just a little longer, your hug tight, your hands running along my back, I should have traced your lips with mine. I should have sealed that promise with a kiss.
"You never see a person only once in a lifetime," you whispered in my ear, your breath tickling me. "That's a promise," I choked on tears, "You hear me, it's a promise."
I should have kissed you; instead, I hugged you once again as you held me tightly and rubbed my back. I should have just reached out. Fate or whatever mystical force there is ******* us up pretty badly. If only I'd met you earlier. If only I'd known you before I got mixed up with the wrong person. I wish we'd had more time. I wish I'd done a lot of things differently. My heart drops in my stomach every time you say you miss me. Your voice will fade away. I won't be able to conjure up your face without looking at pictures, and all your familiar features will be blurred by time and memory. The ephemeral imprint of your skin against mine will soon be gone forever. My heart will grow cold.
The taste of tiramisu will linger, though. Always in the back of my mind, the unanswered question of what it would be like to taste it from your lips. Have tiramisu some time. I hope it tastes like me. You never see a person only once in a lifetime, but perhaps you only have one chance to kiss.
I should have kissed you.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
A whole piece of cake
In exchange to a slice of your head,
Fed you with excessive sweetness
And made me famish for your entire mind.
I recall the nights
Of your faraway look almost imperceptible,
The riddle of your smile
And your tales of departure.
With nicotine on your lips
And caffeine on mine,
I was the silent listener
Of your careless narrative.
Such brief moments harbored inside me,
When like your furtive grin
And sly glances, ensnared my thoughts
Craving more from fragments of your soul.
As time made its scarcity known
And fondness its urgent manifestation,
The sugar note and saccharine gift
Snatched you completely away from me.
Today in coffee city
Alone or with company,
I relive a fraction of yesterday
Out of the same blend of coffee
And from the small portion of the same cake flavor.
Smoke from cigars fills the air
Like wispy apparition of yours
I make out on every stranger’s face
Across the other tables.
A sip of coffee and a bit of cake
Serve as reminders if not comfort
Of how little you cared to say goodbye,
Leaving a bittersweet aftertaste.
I stir this cup
Divining the future,
And all I see is my self.
Over the counter today and tomorrow
My Italian tongue says, “Tiramisu.”
As my English heart whispers, “Pick me up.”
Maybe then as liquids turn
And as circles run.
I will find my own reflection
In your staring eyes.
Jul 20, 2010
Jul 20, 2010 at 1:54 AM UTC
Third Date
She talked and talked and talked,
an East Coast, cultured accent;
"So what are you anyway,
half-German? *** really?
But you look so......British, I guess..."
He stroked her knee.
She gesticulated loudly,
and talked.
"So you were at Princeton,
WOW, that's impressive."
He squeezed her knee.
"I baked cupcakes on Friday night,
my Mom's recipe.
I don't even eat cupcakes,
what's that all about?!?!
He squeezed her other knee.
She wore a mid-thigh,
black and white dress,
swirls, that sort of thing,
interesting cleavage.
He was back on the first knee.
She looked Italian
(it was 'Ristorante Acqua al Duo' after all),
Amy Winehouse eye flares,
head swaying,
resting on her palms,
swaying again.
He had his back to me.
She fingered the wine glass,
tall and generous,
devoured
the last inch,
came up for air and talked again.
He wore a blazer
and cavalry twill pants,
loafers and no socks.
She was hot,
really hot,
fanned her brow with the dessert menu
"Tiramisu was so deeeelicious".
75 degrees on the Prudential window.
He perspired,
fidgeted,
loosened his collar,
looked for the waitress.
Oct 21, 2012
Oct 21, 2012 at 6:45 PM UTC
We’re in a “new” trendy neighborhood called Cascade Heights, in Atlanta. It’s lush - hydrangea, musk rose, hoya and blue false indigo are in bloom and there are greens of every possible variation. The sky is clear and southern-sun bright - shadows are crisp.
It’s going to be 91°(f) today and although it’s only noon, the heat is rising.
Leong pointed out the black tubes that discreetly provide air-conditioning, carefully hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the shaded, outdoor dining area. She thought that was very clever and American. “They’re for survival,” I assure her, “it gets hotter and hotter over the summer.”
Leong and I are finishing lunch, savoring a decadent chocolate chai-tiramisu dessert.
“Oh, my God,” Leong said, sliding the chocolaty spoon over her tongue, “oomm.”
“So good,” I said, moaning with pleasure and closing my eyes.
The waiter comes over with an iPad, I wave my watch, like a magician’s wand and we’re free to go.
We were going to relax a minute and finish the last of our cold chai-tea, but as the waiter left with our cleared dishes, a rando, wino-looking, elderly man came up to the bushes by our table and said to me, “You look sad.”
First of all, I think: NO - and who ARE you? Thinking secondly, *** go away.
I didn’t know what to say - but he put the kibosh to lingering. I started having an “eye-contact-only” conversation with Leong. Are we about done here - do you have your phone and purse - shall we go?
Leong and I stand, in unison, pushing our chairs back with our legs, gathering our shopping bags and belongings in fluid motions long-perfected at mall food-courts.
“We have to go,” I say, with a half-smile and goodbye nod to the man, “have a nice day.”
He watches us go for a moment and we surreptitiously watch him watch us go. Charles, our escort, who was at another table, fell in, a short distance behind us.
Maybe the guy was just being friendly but you can’t underestimate CrAzY in 2022
May 19, 2022
May 19, 2022 at 8:31 AM UTC
December tenth stares from a wall,
At a girl with night-colored hair and
Eyes the shade of a twilight
That blurs purple into the darkness.
The girl looks out
At the blurred edges of this night’s snowflakes,
Falling softly past the windowpane
And down to empty streets below.
It has been more than a month since her birthday,
Her escape from fourteen
That twirled around the clock
A hundred or more times before
Finally stopping.
Maybe not a hundred times,
It was only one month
Repeating again and again
With thirty days of sunshine and one of rain,
Only one of rain.
Madoka always dies on rainy days.
A teacup clatters,
Not quite the clinks of shattering glass,
But startling all the same.
The awakened girl looks into
Kind eyes and golden curls left free to spill over a friend’s shoulder.
Still intentional in all movements,
The golden girl continues setting up the rest of that midnight’s meal.
Tiramisu melts upon tongues as
Two friends sit in silence,
And two survivors let their thoughts soften with the disappearing cake.
The quiet reigns,
Until the twilight girl leaves
With the waking of dawn’s light.
A soft “thank you” drifts with the snow behind her
While unnumbered days rise up ahead,
Forever blocking her sight of what’s to come.
Sep 15, 2018
Sep 15, 2018 at 6:41 PM UTC
To tell the story of the nice-guy
is to tell a tale of unlost innocence.
There is no complexity that circumstance can’t remedy. There is no effort
to niceness; only a ****** world that blossoms
on genetically mutated ideology, growing larger than generations past.
Tomorrow, in Houston,
a butcher will wake up to slaughter a cow he may have named.
There will no be no tears when he grills steak for the wife he wooed
and the children he prescribed himself.
Three daughters,
from fifteen to twenty-two.
Tiramisu for dessert.
Ten guns in the cabinet beneath the stairs
and innocence buried behind the woodshed.
Pretend now, that you are forgiven.
Mistakes fade like snow angels, regrets
float like chemtrails.
You love you as much as the world always did.
You have not seen friends struck down by powders or lunacy,
you have only lived in the glow of their light. Hearts remain full.
The word swagger hasn’t been hijacked by hip hop
and bluejeans still mask imperfections. Sunsets are memorable,
and so are first dates and last kisses.
Sun won't blister fragile shoulders.
Fields blossom just in time to suit your irregular taste buds,
satisfying sweet corn cravings on Christmas.
Forget your father’s words
or a stranger's hand.
Forget improbability, impossibility,
impotence, importance,
impatience
and improper goodbyes.
Forget the tears cried alone
into ***** filled sheets at midnight.
Forget the effect but remember the cause,
camouflaged like a landmine of good ideas.
Forget the fights and slow-turn walk-aways
that turned words flaccid.
Forget friends ******* ex-girl friends
and amphetamines crashing into hallucinations.
Nice-guys vanish like good ideas,
lost in the shuffle,
looking for pen and paper,
just like house cats die
on the forth of July,
and all that’s left are ashes
on a mantel
alongside fraudulent grins.
Oct 29, 2011
Oct 29, 2011 at 7:42 PM UTC
you wanted to invite him in because
he didn't seem too interested in coming inside --
if he was too eager, you'd be
suspicious,
and it's nice finally meeting someone who doesn't
want something from you,
fascinated,
you offer him your dearest hospitality,
and you feed him but he
refuses, and you think
wow he's so polite
but he actually hates tiramisu
and he doesn't admit it
until you offer to give him tiramisu every night for the rest of his life
Aug 14, 2013
Aug 14, 2013 at 10:28 PM UTC
The boys are all about the cheeses,
the platter, the crackers.
The girls are all about double cream.
The thicker the better.
The boys select the cheeses
that are bluer and smellier.
The girls stick with tiramisu
with a coffee chaser.
It makes no difference to the bill
which each year gets pricier.
They add a charge for the ambiance,
no matter what we order.
Oct 9, 2024
Oct 9, 2024 at 2:32 PM UTC
This is a love letter to myself that I’ve never received.
For all the times I almost forgot about my worth crying ,and sleeping anxiously. Merely realized how my heart is honey mashed into gold, and my sweet laugh is the taste of
tiramisu. My eyes sparkle like a shooting star.
I am everything I've ever wanted.
Sweetheart so continue to do you.
Aug 6, 2019
Aug 6, 2019 at 11:27 PM UTC
I wasn’t vulnerable to you
I wasn’t hypnotized by your eyes
Your smile did not make me swoon
but I was oblivious to your lies
I had just recently thrown out a delicious cake –
only weeks later I am finding tiramisu,
not exactly in a pastry shop…
but nevertheless it was delectable
unbelievably creamy, with just the right amount of espresso to give it a kick.
Oh how I devoured its luscious flavor,
most people say to eat slowly,
take in every aspect and cherish every bite.
Don’t get me wrong – I usually do…
I try to anyway….
if there’s a fresh made dessert,
and if I’m hungry,
I am going to want it.
Only after having eaten this tiramisu
and licked the plate clean,
did I find out that it was made with spoiled crème…
I should have known.
I’m lactose and tolerant anyway.
It was so good –
unlike anything I had ever had before…
You came out of nowhere,
your charm and personality perfected
after hours of practice.
Well I am sorry to say that it worked.
You won.
********* I hate regrets,
but your game is done.
still, it’s gonna be awhile before I’m over this one.
Sep 14, 2010
Sep 14, 2010 at 8:02 PM UTC
Marcy Shultz was a typist.
She typed and typed the day through
but never wrote a single thing.
Each morning she would drink her coffee
with a sunken ring at the base of the mug.
It was her good luck charm,
an assurance that at one point in one moment
someone had truly, honestly cared.
At noon she would salsa with the air,
knowing **** well that she would later devour it.
But the air knew nothing,
Thought nothing, just stood there.
Air is naïve, and she was alone.
At night she would shower with the blinds open
figuring if someone looked, someone cared.
But nobody ever looked, and Marcy never blushed.
She'd type little tales on her little laptop.
Typed little stories of little couples
walking dogs
kissing in park benches
laughing at rude jokes
eating tiramisu in little cafés
weaving stories of passers-by
carving initials in wood
waking up in the dead of night
to hear the rhythm of the other's breathing
before
holding each other's hands
and whispering softly in the light of the full moon
flooding in like spilt milk from the cracked window
saying,
"We are together now
and if a moment like this is happening,
then a moment apart is only imaginary."
Then,
always,
always,
always,
The little couples would make love.
Their moans bled through the window
like timeless cries over the milky moon.
The cats in the alley would circle about the songs
echoing loud from the little couple's little love.
Then always, always, always with frustration
Marcy Schultz would toss the tales and go to bed
and the couples would live on in crumpled paper.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 9:36 PM UTC
BONKERS FAMILY
I think the world is going bonkers today,
Eating two tubs of tiramisu for lunch,
Blow the savoury brunch.
Chased them down with two doughnuts,
And half a bucket of tea.
Women's roles just aren't what they used to be.
Never cooks,
prepares no food,
Cooks nothing to feed her hungry brood.
Daddies at home looking after the kids.
I think the world is going bonkers today.
When the gender divide remains undecided.
When the lovely lady in your life,
The one you once called your wonderful wife.
Disappears down the local to play snooker with her mates.
Every Sunday regular dates.
Always faithful,always true.
While you the dutiful husband is knocking out Sunday lunch.
The children are positioned very quietly ,sitting in front of the latest widescreen TV.
The only babysitting service, that's virtually free.
So, I think the world is definitely going bonkers today.
Mum smiles sweetly,
As she pulls on her boots,
She's off out to play.
Again.
(C) Livvi
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
The sound of screeching train brakes.
Metal over metal, while those raindrops smash into the window
slowly falling down.
A pink sky burns away the streetlights on a road so desolate,
And no camera in my backpack.
Its the scent of standing on a roof and hearing how the wind whispers through that lonely tree that grows on top of it.
With a view far beyond the city limits.
The sweet taste of tiramisu ice cream and how she curls her lips.
Its that rusty soda can that hides for ages in the dirt.
And it takes ages to make food above a fire, yet a second to lose a friend.
Watching how the moon transforms.
Memories, those moments we take with us on our path.
Running through subway tunnels,
finding peace down under only to return back into my mess.
I remember how we used to walk those tracks for miles laughing/cursing life.
Smoking herbs on top of buildings, hearing gunshots in the streets.
Climbing walls, holes in my hands.
blood mixed with alcohol, at times my only friends.
How that glass smashed through my arm leaving me with stitches and those days I lost my hope.
Those floors and beds in places we claimed to be our own.
He told me "keep on walking" and I wonder is he still alive?
Memories, those moments we take with us on our path.
That new years eve we left eachother cursing after a smashed bottle of *****
We used to drop freestyles in the park and drink away the night.
It still hurts me that you died and left me here behind.
You put a mirror up in front of my face, and showed me my own end.
I learned alot from your mistakes and I hope you have your peace now.
You saw angels in the streets, and now I see them too.
At times not only angels, black demon dogs appearing from the myst.
Chasing us like crazy and when lost, they came again the next day.
Some things I cant explain.
Memories, those moments we take with us on our path.
As I sit here now, broke, I look back upon my life.
Thankful for the madness and the lessons I have learned.
I wish for something different, yet some things do not depend on me.
No clear path to walk like usual, hope that this works out.
I will always have myself, my camera my memories and dreams.
The road, the tracks, the rusted soda cans. Harbours full with ships.
The rain, the moon, and those cities full with life.
One year left to freeze my time, crossroads without end.
And in the end, the laughter and the tears are always worth it.
Dreams, those moments that drag us through our past.
Jul 17, 2010
Jul 17, 2010 at 12:01 PM UTC
He insists
preparing his zucchini
paying adequate attention
becoming a cook-off
looking forward to the tiramisu
the event drastically physical
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 7:02 PM UTC
Do not be so blue.
I have.... Tiramisu!
Yes, it's all for you.
Aug 10, 2018
Aug 10, 2018 at 7:44 PM UTC
sharing this tiramisu ~~
the one more in love
gets a little less
© 2021
inspired by the japanese haiku poet keisanjin
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 10:02 AM UTC
Me, me, me: I'm just up for dem purple notez like dat purple cow from dat commercial: a Milka spot, no tiramisu, me i got a really black leather jacket, originally stolen by my brate in da name of da hood: we robbed a rich family in my city
dem apartment was closed, but my brate kicked dat door in wit his bosnian feet; 79 inches, balkan handz, workin wit a digga he be carryin dem lockerz; me tellin my brate: we got all dat yayo, so just do it
and now we be eatin cevape and börek, while dem cops are lookin for two of these yugo-haircutz; bluelightz all over da place, sirenz and carz, me carryin da bag no ****** around wit home depot
dear god, just help me dat time: i need me a benz wit dem mega-rimz
now come on and see it, and take it like quick: da yugo-cheater, i'll be rippin off dat cash
Nov 27, 2020
Nov 27, 2020 at 10:56 AM UTC
Goodbye Mr.Grey
It's the end of your day.
Even this ice cream can't console me
I want to go where you'll be.
It reminds me of cotton clouds and you.
I look at the flavor and it says Tiramisu.
I know it means "Pick me up."
But for me it sounded more like "I miss you."
**** the heart so into you.
It just won't give up.
Apr 27, 2016
Apr 27, 2016 at 2:28 AM UTC
“Ooooh! ”
“Ooooh! ”
Radio singing to
itself continuously
though there is
no one
to listen
except some
coffee cups
(one overturned)
& some soggy
Tiramisu.
The radio sings
supremely
unable to control
itself.
Meanwhile
halfway across town
& just
(in time)
...baby is
born.
“My baby love...
...my baby love! ”
The radio sings
to anyone
who will listen.
May 1, 2015
May 1, 2015 at 8:03 PM UTC
It was a black dress
and a $12 glass of white wine
that I later beamed to pay for
Sitting at the bar
alone
I got to see you first
I saw you without me
I could not wait
to change that
Tell me
let me tell you
pizza and salad
a conversation
that needed nothing
lingered in moments
and made me love you
Tiramisu and coffee
I should have kissed you
in the stairwell
of that restaurant
basement
“Come home with me?”
“ok.”
the train station
“I can’t.”
“Can I hug you?”
you asked
don’t leave
you left.
a flight back home
away from you
and that hug
and that hope
It was a black dress
a $12 glass of wine
a night
one night
that I was yours
Such short and simple words to hide a long enduring pain
born out of romanticizing
handing your heart
to a perfect stranger
trust me
they’re never perfect
Dec 3, 2019
Dec 3, 2019 at 6:06 PM UTC
Man on the moon, was
My brain is Swiss cheese
And I wish these
Hands were in yours or ya jeans like some miss mes, wish U missed me,
but you're missing
And I'm listing, no I'm drownin.
Soaking in the liquor I be downing
Poking in ya liver when I'm poundin
Mixing macaroni mushy sounding
But I digress. Slight sad spell but I'm not depressed. Ight n well just must address it
I just wish I could undress ya
Smoke 3 jibs and ya never felt better but that **** this **** only last 30 minutes
Order dominos.Alfredo, nochicken.
order Olive Garden, cavitapi w the bacci
pardon , maybe tiramisu
through tears All I'm missin is u
Through rear view all I'm seeing is moon
Through windshield all I'm seeing is moon,
all I'm seeing is moon
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 4:00 AM UTC
it’s a full moon tonight.
It’s a harvest moon
on this harvest moon, I’ve hurt someone I admire
I grilled, you brought the Bordeaux. You brought dessert.
On this harvest moon, I’ve hurt someone I admire.
I’ll try the tiramisu in the morning
Sep 10, 2022
Sep 10, 2022 at 2:52 AM UTC
So happy am I, that you came
We had a fantabulous time
Talking for hour after hour
Catching up with each other
Relishing piping hot Vada Pavs
Followed by Tiramisu jars
And last but not the least
The best Hot Chocolate!
So happy am I, that you came
Really made me beam
All sorts of topics, did we discuss
Cricket, tennis, work, politics
Music, food, travel, trains
All in all, had a blast
Half a day free of stress
And full of entertainment!!
So happy am I, that you came
After a long, long time
Well, hope we meet again fast
So I can give the promised treat
Until then, take care, dear brothers
Wish you oodles of love, success, happiness and peace!!
Jul 11, 2025
Jul 11, 2025 at 7:13 AM UTC