Nigella

Oh I beg you open up your pantry door, Nigella,
For I'm helpless and I'm rolling on the floor, Nigella.
Your peaches with whipped cream
Are the best I've ever seen
And your sticky buns a middle-aged man's dream, Nigella.

Please activate me like a frothy yeast, Nigella.
You'll soon find out if I am man or beast, Nigella.
If you pummel me like dough
Then I'll very nearly know
That you love me just a little bit at least, Nigella.

When I see you standing at the cooking hob, Nigella,
You're sweeter than the corn upon the cob, Nigella.
Forget the boring ninnies
In their shapeless, stripey pinnies —
Your black dress and high heels are just the job, Nigella.

When I watch you drooling over a hot wok, Nigella,
My desire becomes much firmer than a rock, Nigella.
You can wash me, you can dry me,
You can stir me, you can fry me,
You can blitz me and then turn me into stock, Nigella.

I don't care if you serve melons or a fig, Nigella,
Or cabbage with a juicy slice of pig, Nigella,
Or chocolate with pak choi
Or a tasty saveloy —
My appetite would always be this big, Nigella.

So weigh me in your kitchen scales of love, Nigella,
And slip me on just like an oven glove, Nigella.
If you went, what would I do?
(Rachel Khoo is sexy too,
But she isn't as voluptuous as you, Nigella.)