Marmite on toast for the soul

I love you.

You’re marmite on toast for the soul

you make me whole

when I bite you.

You’re a Sunday night before a bank holiday

you’re extra

you make me feel ambidextrous

make me flex my pecs

feel smug

I want to crawl under your rug.

You’re a towering Mr Whippy

in a fancy waffle cone,

the wallpaper, screensaver and lock screen picture on my phone,

you’re my starred mail

I want to keep making you unread, keep you green,

so I can read you again

see your subject line in bold.

You’re the cleanest, nail pressed, most exacting paper fold.

You’re my favourite pen,

You fit neatly nestled onto my writing lump

so softly you don’t even leave a dent

you’re the fresh air through my vent

the sweet huff of my bicycle pump.

I want to squeeze you.

You’re like a sneeze

1/8 of sublime

1/8 an orgasm each time you enter my mind

you’re a fresh rice crispie

straight out of the pack

you’re that epic, ancient blackhead finally squeezed on my back

aaaahh yesss. At lasssst.

You’re the first hiss

as I open the lid.

You’re the most life-changing hack.

I love you.

I want to walk behind you collecting your crumbs

keep them in a jar

you’re a star

and you trail silver hope through my dark

let me catch your tail

and wrap you around my heart

let me wrap my arms around your legs

press my cheek to your feet

curl up round you like a comma

fingers curled around your toes

And let’s stay there like that

a ying yang

in perfect balance

in a circle made for two.