Morning, noon, or night, any time of the day
seduced by the aroma of your epicurean bouquet.
Simmering, sizzling, stoking my fire.
The longer it takes and I wait, grows my desire.
Meanwhile molten driblets brandish my skin,
this pop, trickle, and bite, driving me to oblivion.
Hot and hard enough, finally done;
I part lips and greasy ambrosia quenches my tongue.
Your salty, clear nectar delights and thrills;
your delectable meat never fails to fulfill.
Satisfied, complete, all my taste buds awakened,
Everything is better when it involves bacon.
