An Ode to Bacon

Dear Bacon, 
 
I love you,
No matter what they say,
I dream of you, your thick slabs,
sliced to lip-smacking dabs
of delight, there is no fright
of parasites, for garlic is light
to the stomach as wine is to the soul
It'll kill after the thrill any semblance of malice
wrought by the chalice of your beneficence;
I'll take a plate, or rather a bowl
of bacon. My love, to thee I sing
I bring, my salivating glands and widening waist band
Here's a cup of coffee, and then a pancake (or five)
Then into a deep coma, I dive
and rest, for I am blessed by your love, my dear,
I'm in fifth gear, in perfect bliss,
I therefore dismiss anyone's remiss at your goodness,
Oh bacon, my help and comfort and joy.
Oh boy, it's bacon for breakfast!