Love Handles

Hanging plump from denim lovingly hugging belt-loops button fly, underwear elastic, are my calzones, Ho-Ho's, Decemberist naps. - Some would call you 'muffin-top' and how fitting! Willing to wager that my steady diet of pancakes, cupcakes, carrot cakes, ambition to be a beef-cake, fear of looking like a fruit-cake, led to my doughy physique, frosted by moments of dessert menu regret. - Pioneer spirit labels you 'saddle bags' bringing out the cowboy in me. With these fatty flaps I could bull-whip banditos, dismantle train tracks with badonka-donk dynamite, until I remember that saddle bags are not worn by the desperado, but the mule, making me the jackass of the joke. - Comforting to have a 'spare tire' just in case a friend blows a flat, while finding a six pack; "Don't worry, I'm more than happy to lend you mine." - But for all the pet-names, I choose to honor our romance, affectionately calling you my 'love handles.' Unlike the heart, dropped and lost so easily, I can't seem to get rid of you. Loyal like my cravings, never leaving my side, growing like a jiggling chuckle. Stair-Master's foe, skinny jean's woe, curves in all the wrong places, giving me at least one thing that I can hold on to. -