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Mac and Cheeseburgers (poem, anecdote)

Sometimes when you eat food, a longtime craving passes. And without coming off too lewd, a sexual wave elapses.

The thrill of best cuisine, has a loving story, and would be rather boring, if the meaty parts weren’t gory.

Salt and pepper in ground meat, after a relaxing peachy day, night-time garlic, summer’s heat. Surrendered stories given away.

We froze the miniature sliders, saving potential for something greater. We’re not just witnesses, we’re riders, we’re the cooks we also wait for.

Being frozen is to know no time, nothing grows when locked in stasis, but sometimes you have to stop the slime from self-destruction and bacterial traces.

The cheese concoction was a mystery. Another source, another story, how? What might have been the gooey history? Maybe it came from the same cow?

Chefs brought together a grand design: eggs, flour, battered, balled, fried. We would experience and might call divine something no individual would have tried…

…But a group of efforts made it and I got to play it, face it, and even taste it!

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