poem about eggs because i like eggs (yes very good)

Raw
Shock on the tongue
Forced down the gullet

Fried
Sparkling in oil
Crowned on top of bread

Scrambled
Salt and pepper
White, yellow, in one

Boiled
Soft air melts skin
Runny or solid

Poached
Made soft, gentle
Outside its porcelain

Pores full of breakfast
Metal brushes the plate
Omelette dances in my stomach