Shakespeare’s not in Love

Shall I compare thee
to a summer’s day?
No?
How about some other way?

Shall I compare thee
to an autumn eve?
Thou art more beautiful,
when the light is fading.

Can I compare thee
to a Reuben sandwich?
Thy flesh also folds
when lying in repose.

Art thou not most like
a plate of lutefisk?
An unctuous temptation,
till the first bite proves false.