Her hair was cream cooling in the pantry <br />And her eyes were hot buttered scones <br />And her look was a pancake’s flip, one side done <br />And her teeth were fat oysters from Bantry bay <br />Her nose was that liqueur you can never remember the name of <br />And her back, her back, was Sunday apple pie <br />And her shoulders were risotto - sometimes rissoles <br />Her freckles were grated nutmeg <br />Her scent was crushed blackberries <br />And her last smile was fresh baked bread <br />And her song was sweet and sour <br />And her tongue was Mississippi mud pie <br />And her laugh was milk and honey <br />And her arguments were those strange dips from M
