Our past reeks of week-old salad dressing.
     Don't tell me you're not intrigued.
My health has always been secondary to the glares
     you send my way.
Your love is my tangy dipping sauce;
     too much but never enough.
Super-size me, friend.
I haven't the time to wait for your fickle
     transparencies.
Love me now or love me never.
You never shared your goldfish but I understood your
     upbringings and nibbled on heartache.
An expiration date halts me not. I am too willing for
     your passions and fail to excuse myself.
It takes two to tango but one to dougie.
     Explain or I shall leave at once.
I dance alone, and darling,
     my fries are getting cold.
The microwave does not
     suffice.