Your face is like a cosine graph,
with lovely upward curves,
I noticed as your mandible
helped crush tonight's hors d'oeuvres.
You whispered in my ear tonight,
how much you love me so,
like Smeagol hissing to his ring
down in his cave below.
Each memory I have of you
is saved for evermore
on software in my cranium,
and there you are adored.
The photons radiating from
your ever rosy lips
like rockets, hit my irises
till all else is eclipsed.
My heart explodes for you just like
a miniature Death Star,
for you to me are like
a carburetor to the car.
Each time I see you coming,
like a rotifer I'd swim
through pond-scum to his lady
and all other things grow dim.
Like peristalsis rippling down,
your gown flows silky smooth,
right to your twin patellas
each and every time you move.
I'd love you in the Shire, and
in the House of Gryffindor.
When Zombies eat our rotting flesh,
I'll love your rotten core.
.
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