Ode to Mashed Potatoes: Revised
The fork
is your deceiver.
Do not call him your prince,
but a marvelous princess
you are.
Wanted by
the village
folk
carrots, peas, and broccoli,
who await your
courtship.
First on the
white, flat, platform
that arranges
each of you together.
The one you
choose will
accompany
your buttery
skin
down the
matrimonial
black isle.
Your creamy
arms are
wrapped
with a loose,
tense embrace
claiming your
choice,
exclaiming your
juicy, chewing
emotions
you allow
to show about
your
delicious
companion.
What beauty
blends from
your tasteful
union,
feeling warm
with the knowledge
of a cloudy
crimson, fulfilled
reception arena.
The Delicious Village Prince: Revised
My tongue sticks to the top of my mouth
glazing liquid extracts through my teeth,
I must resist the temptation
by the steam you release, with the
sweet aroma you possess
how can I put you back?
Structure aligned,
voices whisper
each neighbor
familiar with
your royal past,
the history of your design.
Although known as a prince,
your desire not to reign
but to be among the rest.
Feet barely trudging
eye glances absent of power.
You are aware of your scent,
and strive to be acknowledged in each cottage.
Every child adores you, every mother scowls
at your appearance.
I am trying to control my urge,
my sudden twitch
struggling to open my mouth,
it is then, you catch me staring.
No longer can I hold back,
I reach for your body.
This poem was written using three words from my Ode. I wanted to find three words that I felt fit well together in a silly context, and well, the end result was a "Delicious Village Prince"!
Delish!
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