O Tongue, Sir, thou I salute with glee -
How canst I but marvel at thee? -
What gloriousness thy countenance betrays, -
This pinkish slab of muscle, that spotted uneven fray -
Thy cuteness magnified, those movements, that grace, -
With that speckled form, thy crowning one's face. -
O Tongue, Sir, this but an ode be -
Declareth I, how I worship thee! -
Come and dissect. Please. Pretty please. Soon, and swiftly. Then slice the umbilical cord in one quick movement and lay out the body to rest. Leave the mind in turmoil, but the let the body to rest.
Is that you Dexter?
ReplyDelete