Sick Love

That poor old woman who loved her food was tender to my heart. Despite the fact she ate pure junk and cancer lost her spark. But my dear heart was ever true and I was quite enamored. And I knew just to climb on board and bang what really mattered. When all my thoughts were blairing food. for love that really mattered. And all my thrusts were getting rude for pleasure I estattered. When once again I felt her pain where pleasure didn't matter. And once again excitement came that passion couldn't latter. For which I said I'd claim for love where latching's plainly rathered. Where what of food I knew to be was faith for being gathered. When what was said myself would do for love to one another. Was I would go to town on her and give like any other. Then banged her chips. and banged her cheesies. Banged the Chex that made it sleazy. Aimed for more than dreck and breezy. Frosted love for cake and queasy. Drawn to find a name for all for those who'd make it queasy. Cost of life for making love the grocery stores bare easy.