You annoy me very little and I hardly think it’s fair
To place a box of scorpions beneath your favourite chair
I so enjoy your snoring and your dodgy thyroid gland
I don’t stand at your bedside with a pillow in my hand
Your laughter doesn’t make me twitch or sound like mating seals
So I won’t be crushing any glass to sprinkle on your meals
Adorable, your litany of whys and wheres and ifs
I’ll not be booking holidays near isolated cliffs
I love your lack of empathy and sullen, lifeless eyes
No need for poison pancakes or exploding custard pies
If ever you should doubt, my love, the way I feel for you
Recall this host of nasty things I’ve managed not to do
Thus far…