You.

You're what's it, the tits,
the dogs bollocks, the ritz,
the flicked clits, dangly bits,
the baby, just without the shits.

You're the gravy,
floating the navy.
You're the queue
to break taboo.

You're Sunday mornings
getting sucked off.
In the fucking kitchen
you're the fucking top broth.

You're the minty breath,
the crystal blue meth,
the horse's cock,
the fresh wank sock.

The deck the halls,
first scratch on the balls,
and the scratch after that,
and the scratch after that.

The rolled up bogey,
before I've flicked it.
The unexpected joy in
the third tray of biscuits.

You're the key to my heart
and the clamp to my nipple.
You're the wet dream,
and the reason I dripple.

You're the cute dimples,
you're the popped pimples.
You're put the toot in my flute,
the mask on my gimp suit.

You're the joy of rhyme,
in the meta verse.
You're the funny stanza,
that doesn't fit with the rest because it doesn't play by any rules.

The doughnut, the throw rug,
the shag pile, the pastry smile.
Steak bake, spank rake,
tongued hole, dormant mole.

The scary loose bandage
on the scary loose Mummy.
You're sadistic fucking bondage,
and tickling my tummy.

You make my dick harder,
than a NES Turtle.
You're the best, fuck the rest,
you make my squirtle hurtle.

You make my milk curdle,
you're the begged "yes please."
The grapes, the cracker, the knife, the board -
you're the fucking top cheese.

You're the ageing joke,
an unpenetrated egg yolk.
Growing old and living,
Being young and jizzing.

I like you, I like your jive.
I love you, I love your vive,
I need you, I need your drive,
I'm glad you, I'm glad you're alive.