Shall I Compare Thee To A Hot Pocket?

Here's a little something I had bugging me for a few days, I fleshed it out and based it (obviously) on the Shakespearean Sonnet "Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day?"

Shall I compare thee to a Hot Pocket?
Thou art more lovely and cooler to the touch.
Preservatives do keep you good until May,
And that's a not to short a shelf life.
Sometime too hot your filling gets,
And often is your gold complexion dimm'd,
And every sale from sale price declines,
By chance or nature's changing course at full retail;
But thy eternal tastiness shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that warm, crispy, tender yet flaky crust;
Nor shall Hunger brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines of variety and flavors thou grow'st:
So long as men can eat or mouths can taste,
So long lives the Hot Pocket not a crumb to waste.


I probably could have done better, but then again what do I care, I'm obviously grasping for content.