Musing On Her Menu

Darn 'mones crave sex
like pizza    
while this ole heart
demands dessert    
shit, there's nada
in the freezer    
only frosted hurts    
   
If a soul's gorged
once on toppings    
sour banquet creams
unfold    
when stale nachos
sprinkled lust    
blinks blankly
from life's bowl    
   
Drooling horny
at the deli    
can't decide what I
should eat    
the gal behind the counter    
or something simpler
but less sweet    
   
Now as the line moves closer    
I just know
her armpits stink...    
From a distance
she seemed tasty    
so I'll need more time    
to think