I miss your gentle touch upon my lips. It has been too long since you have graced my presence with your starchy tang. I have been scorned by many erasers disguised as potato lumps on my sauce covered plate. Those were just fools. You are the one I really want. Your tempurpedic pillow plushness. Your mouth watering ability to dissolve into liquid love. Your attempt to quash my wine’s desire to eff me up. You are a fickle lover. A small, tiny lover. And you have abated me for the last time. My search for you continues. You and I will be together at last, Signore Gnocchi.