Lunch (an acrostic poem)

Image: assets.epicurious.com/photos/601d563594dda03d42e39290/1:1/w_3337,h_3337,c_limit/breakfast-nachos-recipe-simply-julia-020521.jpg

Looking at her plate, she wondered how she had gotten here

Under the fluorescent yellow liquid cheese, a treasure trove of textures and flavors existed

Now her stomach rumbled in anticipation of the excavation ahead

Crunching a loaded tortilla chip, her tastebuds danced to the symphony of tastes

Hefting her beer and taking a swig, she smiled loving her little bit of heaven

Crispy (an acrostic poem)

Image: assets.bonappetit.com/photos/57ad4431f1c801a1038bcb17/16:9/w_1280,c_limit/nashville-style-hot-chicken.jpg

Crunching on this piece of Nashville hot fried chicken

Relishing in the heat and texture dancing in my mouth

It is a spiritual experience to be sure

So much noise and so much spice

Perhaps I should have gotten that milkshake after all

Yeppers, as my mouth begins to erupt, yes, I should have

Crispy (an acrostic poem)

Crunching greasy fried chicken

Reveling in the horribleness of it all

It was like the sound was a delectable spice

Satisfying something deep and primal

Pushing mere sustenance into something heaven sent

Yet also devil spawn for the grease stains on my shirt

 

Image: thespruceeats.com/thmb/35SXVVtZrx9zpOiLoSaFbRQJepc=/2048×1365/filters:fill(auto,1)/southern-oven-fried-chicken-3058647-5_preview-5b0ec6ecba61770036491ed7.jpeg