How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee with my touch, tongue and tummy,
The way you stink up the room like bacon,
For all the midnight snack sessions we shared.
I love thee to the level of crazy
The way your strings tickle on the way down.
I love thee wholly, despite your uncanny resemblance to an oversized fluorescent slug;
I love thee organically, as you are.
I love thee with the passion of hunger,
With my love for the whole orange food group.
I love thee fried, mashed, a pie, tots or baked.
Others scold—they who smell thee on my breath.
Best taste, of all my life!—and, topped with chives,
I can now happily accept my death.