I can go on top, Or come before, I am creamy and moist, Whether salty or not. I have many imitators, But some would agree, That unless it’s the real thing, They can’t believe it’s not me.

Born in pairs, yet never twins by fate, I kiss the ground wherever paths await. I hold no voice, yet tell where you’ve been, Through dust, through rain, through worlds unseen.

I’m a tiny room with very big responsibilities. Emergencies happen here, reflections are judged here, and soap is often overused. Please knock. Dignity is fragile.

I curl when you pull me, I bow when you tie me, I dress up a gift. What am I?

A Cloud in space, Of dust and gas I birth new stars That glow away