v By Justin Cagle
Where in heaven’s name been you?
I’ll ask before I’m ever through,
Devouring you down my throat,
A certain sonnet I wish to quote,
“Compare thee to a summer’s day?”
How I love thee, Crème Brûlée.
Residing in a bowl of glass,
I’ll lick your creamy custard mass,
If tasting your sweet sin is wrong,
Then let my burn in hell prolong!
For nothing could assuage dismay,
If there was not you, my Crème Brûlée.