“A humorous poem to my wife that has to end in the line: I love you like fat kids love cake.”

When morning alarm clocks go off with a howl,  
And I’m clumsy and tripping and searching for towel,  
You laugh as you witness my sleep-muddled face—  
Hair wild as the jungle, pajamas unlaced.  

When I park on the curb instead of the drive,  
And somehow our plants are still halfway alive,  
You smile and you nudge, then pour coffee to wake—  
And batter my burnt toast with jam for my sake.  

You weather my habits, both odd and immense:  
The puns that I claim are for comic defense,  
The socks by the sofa, the keys that I lose,  
(And frankly, I know, it’s impressive you choose).  

On laundry day chaos, when colors run wild,  
You laugh, every time, with the heart of a child.  
For moments like these, I am shamelessly grateful—  
Your patience, your warmth, your eyes when you’re playful.  

So here’s to our journey, the mix and the mess,  
The dinners, the giggles, the “yesses” and “yes!”  
No sonnet or couplet another could make—  
Could express how I love you like fat kids love cake.

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