They say love is a verb.
If it is, the object of my affection and I,
Have no desires that need be curbed.
I indulge myself in him as much as I care to,
And as a result, my tummy aches.
My lover is chocolate cake.
They say love hurts.
If so, then I can be evidence of it.
Every time I indulge in my baby,
I clutch my tummy; for a moment inert.
And then I howl in anguish, and drown myself in bitter syrups,
I cry myself into painful hiccups.
My lover is ice cream in a tub.
They say love is completeness in acceptance.
And therefore, I return to my lover every night-
a serving of dessert after dinner with a hint of vanilla essence.