Shall I compare thee to a rotten raisin?
Thou art much less fermented.
The flies come if they’re left out in a bin.
But the sun just makes you demented.

Sometimes I find a box melted in my car.
And thus it sticks like crazy glue.
And since my Drain-O is not up to par,
Thus am I as stuck to you.

But the only time I’ve seen you melt is while looking in my eyes.
And being around you is as sweet, almost as sweet as those,
Old, fermented, raisins baked into cherry pies.
And never ever have I had to pour acid up your nose.

As long as flies steer clear of you, I shall be content.
With my handsome sun-made lover, although your nose is bent.