i
On the top shelf of the fridge sits a neatly wrapped greaseproof parcel, carefully enclosed
with the ends tucked in like a precious gift
or an illegal substance.
Every time I open the door to select the milk
it calls me.
I stare and stare. My internal conversation fighting the urge to eat,
fighting the urge to taste just one bite,
of the perfect little blocks of:
ii
White creamy cheesy
sticky sweet squares
that squishes and squashes
in between my finger tips
before bouncing back
to whole cubes of heaven.
And fail.
iii
I bite
leaving a
perfect mould
of my molars.
Buzzing sweetness
fills my mouth.
Sweetly cheesy
Sweetly lovely
Sweetly fudgy
Sweetly naughty
Creamy cheesy fudge.
Dedicated with thanks to JC
By Dix
or an illegal substance.
Every time I open the door to select the milk
it calls me.
I stare and stare. My internal conversation fighting the urge to eat,
fighting the urge to taste just one bite,
of the perfect little blocks of:
ii
White creamy cheesy
sticky sweet squares
that squishes and squashes
in between my finger tips
before bouncing back
to whole cubes of heaven.
And fail.
iii
I bite
leaving a
perfect mould
of my molars.
Buzzing sweetness
fills my mouth.
Sweetly cheesy
Sweetly lovely
Sweetly fudgy
Sweetly naughty
Creamy cheesy fudge.
Dedicated with thanks to JC
By Dix
