How do I love Temping? Let me count the ways.

Well, Valentine's Day is upon us. And Temp X is in love. Yes. I love Temping. So, inspired by Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnet 43, I'd like to offer the following. I've just warmed my cockles. Hope it does the same to yours (assuming you have them).

How do I love Temping? Let me count the ways.
I love Temping in my poverty and indentured servitude and famishment
Because my wallet is bare, like an oak tree in Winter's frozen grip.
I love Temping to the level of everyday's
Most screaming exec, fueled by Napoleonic tendencies.
I love Temping freely, as that's the most apt adjective;
I love Temping purely, as pure as the cocaine my boss snorts.
I love Temping with the passion only my
Therapist knows, and with childhood naivite.
I love Temping with a love I once had
For the written word—I love Temping with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!— but, if God (or Kevin Huvane) choose,
I shall but love Temping better after my boss's death.