To His Coy Mistress
My eyes, you know, are like two pools
Of brownest turkey gravy.
My hair is like a buttered bowl
Of fettuccini, wavy.
My cheeks are pale, yet splotched with pink,
Like skin-on mashed potatoes.
My mouth—how red! How dripping wet!—
Is summer’s plump tomato.
So grab a plate! Come load me up!
And if it needs repeated:
There’s no wait time! I’m ready now!
I’m seasoned, sliced, and heated.
If, fresh from youth’s first buffet line,
I am at all appealing,
Come eat me while you yet have time
For soon I’ll start congealing.