May 2023
Oh still-warm vision of my heart's delight,
Your crusty, crunchy skin and doughy heart,
Your sweet aroma with tears blurs my sight,
And makes me yearn to taste your every part.
My doctor says you'll be the death of me,
Blood sugar and triglycerides too high,
But I don't care, for my love sets me free,
And of one thing or other we must die.
Come, spend some time with me, bask in my love,
The simple pleasures are the best, one knows,
We're meant to be, we fit like hand in glove,
The more I have you, the more hunger grows.
Alas, I cannot live with only you,
Charcuterie and wine are vital too.
Your crusty, crunchy skin and doughy heart,
Your sweet aroma with tears blurs my sight,
And makes me yearn to taste your every part.
My doctor says you'll be the death of me,
Blood sugar and triglycerides too high,
But I don't care, for my love sets me free,
And of one thing or other we must die.
Come, spend some time with me, bask in my love,
The simple pleasures are the best, one knows,
We're meant to be, we fit like hand in glove,
The more I have you, the more hunger grows.
Alas, I cannot live with only you,
Charcuterie and wine are vital too.
Yes, this is written with tongue in cheek. My least favorite British romantic poet is Lord Byron, but if he can in all seriousness write an ode to his dog, by golly I can write a sonnet with no seriousness at all to my love for French/Italian/peasant bread. As Spaniards say, "Cada loco con su tema, y yo con el mio" (each insane person has their theme and I have mine).
