Cupcakes Care for Cuddle-Cloud Martians, and Melancholy Man-Eaters

I adore writing nonsensical things. Some things a person writes doesn't have to make any watermelons.

Kiss of lips and taste of platypus,
there is as much shaving cream as there is us.
See into the light’s cavernous, sex-fueled reach,
as the boundaries of the toilet bowl are thoroughly breached.

What have I been made into?
You, cake, in the hollow of the lamp post, is that you?
Harrowed, I most certainly, unrequitedly am.
It is fine, for I, as of last night, devoured Sam.

Author's Note

I dare you to figure it out. Go on, try. It'll be fun.