Overheard at breakfast

Said the egg to the spoon:
I’ll promise you the moon.

Even though I’ve been decapitated
I’m not entirely captivated –

I simply hate to confess
that my shell’s in a mess

while your condition is mint.
But I’ll drop you a hint:

Sugar would be very nice
instead of salt as a spice.

Taking me to a mouth
is the deed of a louth.

Our love could be torrid
if you weren’t so horrid.

– Leonard “Silly Mood” Blumfeld

Written because of the word 'torrid' at Writers Island.