Ham and cheese came between us,
mayonnaise and mustard oozed in.
At 350 I turn quite brown;
you make me hotter within.
Batter, we were meshed together,
then shoved in a cellophane sleeve.
Anyway you slice it, Honey,
we’ve been split up! I cry and grieve.

As we lay upon a white plate,
on my knees I plead, “Marry me?”
I will endow you with butter
and we’ll share love infinity.
It’s clear our love isn’t hot air.
You are soft-hearted and I fell.
Some may say it’s how they sliced us,
that I’m an oaf in a loaf. Swell!

I feel a nibble on my hip
and our hands are finally touching.
Is the cheese fondling you, dear?
I’m next to pig—thin and fetching.
That mustard’s not thick … it’s running …
like the tears upon my pillow.
Inside, we’ll be reunited,
our hearts—it’s pieces—are mellow.

Anyway you slice it, baby,
we got the wrong end of the deal.
We’d probably be trash now
if we were on the end, a heel.
All our children may end up ‘toast’
but we were fresh there for a time.
At least we’re sandwiched together
and our rewards are intertwined.