Sonnet For The Lady Down The Bar, From The Gentleman With The Watery Gaze

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee blood-red eyes, thee thickly parted lips.

I love thee fragile scar that adorns thee finely bloated neck.

I love thee blindly, naively, like a man with cataracts, or a concussion of some kind.

Yea, I love thee deeply, inwardly, with all the contents of my stomach. I love thee even more than I love charcoal-filtered gin.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee poshly powdered pocks, thee sweetly scented scabs.

I love thee crimson veins that gleam in thee whiskey-ravaged schnoz.

I love thee fiercely, fervently, like a stray dog happening upon the carcass of a cow.

Yea, I love thee stiffly, rigidly, with all the severity of a shot. I couldn’t love you more, not even if you were soaked in schnapps.