Feast (an acrostic poem)

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Focusing on the food was what gave him pleasure

Every morsel perfectly prepared and consummately seasoned

At the moment he could think of nothing better existing in the universe

So why was his stomach still an echo chamber of empty rumbles?

The fact the meal in question was just an old magazine spread and he had no money

Corn (an acrostic poem)

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Crispy fluffy white popped kernels pour out of the kettle

Obscene amounts of liquid butter soon flow over the alabaster landscape slightly seasoned with salt

Releasing that signature smell in the air that screams movie time

Now for the show that is me consuming of this mountain of magnificence