flesh of my flesh

As Horace contemplated the yellow-green ball of quivering snot upon his nicotine stained forefinger, he thought he would burst with joy, or if not, then implode with sadness. Ah, the pangs of love: the highs and lows, the fasts, the slows..."Snotty," exclaimed Horace poignantly, "dost thou still love me as I do thee? Wherefore thy cold silence, my darling, why dost thou respondeth not? When one