Another Wasted Day

Shall I consume thee crispy Chik-fil-a?
Thou art most wondrous and delectable:
Ill I speak that thou art closed on Sunday,
Whilst I pray need be you accessible:
Sometime too hot thy grilled breasts leave me awed,
And oft’ is that in which my hunger yearns;
For thy tender thighs be a gift from God,
Every nugget of gold from heaven burns:
Thy ample sauces never go to waste
Nor the beauty of thy sweet nectar fade;
Forever lingers thy welcoming taste,
A pleasant weakness never would I trade.

So long as men can eat, and meat can fry,
So long lives thee, thy legend shalt not die.