Ode To Cheese Fries - _hot_

No fork nor knife approaches your domain. Only fingers, reckless, burn the eager skin. To lift a single, dripping, tangled chain is to commit a delicious, greasy sin.

Late night, you arrive in a paper boat, a Styrofoam sea, a foil-wrapped ark. The bar is loud. The lost are still afloat. You are the lantern glowing in the dark. ode to cheese fries

How do I love your first resist, the snap, the steam that rises like a grateful ghost, then all at once the molten, salty map of cheddar, provolone—the ultimate host? No fork nor knife approaches your domain