In the Pickup Line at the Deli
Your eyes are like onions,
translucent and glazed;
Your brows are like yeast,
perpetually raised;
Your nostrils are rings
each surrounding a hole;
Inside which I eye a path
straight to your soul;
Your lips are so crusty
and crumby and cracked,
I just want to eat you;
How’m I supposed to react?
