ODE TO BACON

Sweet sizzling grease on a skillet;
Bubbling fat delicacy on a metal plane,
Caressing the toungue with lovely cholesterol,
next to egg and toasted delights.
Taken from swine and consecrated on pan:
Thousands of tiny fibers waiting to bring me joy.
Red strips of soft fat sustenance.
The closest thing to condensed happiness.
aArtery clogging comfort filling my mouth,
Lying prostrate on a pan,
Making a tired meal whole with it's salty splendor.
Taken from the bosom,
I take it to the bosom.
Delicious bloody undercooked ecstacy;
Vegetarians are dumb.
To miss such a pleasure is to deny the mind of true happiness.
And that, My friend, is way worse than slaughtering an innocent pig.