Ode to a tortilla chip

The first in an anthology of poems I'm building about all the little but important things in the life of a slovenly student. This first installment is a heartfelt ode to a packet of tortilla chips.

Famished, I stagger forth from my parlour to my pantry, in the manner of a wild beast, clawing almost in the hope of wasting not a single second reaching sweet relief from the icy grip of this most evil of hungers.

 Tarry rash wonton! Clothed in that deepest and most beautiful of azures, I spy something that takes from me for a moment my senses, and renders me giddy with all the forms of pleasure and relief imaginable to a man. Such is the serendipity of the scene it borders on some most divine miracle, for in search of simple relief I find unimaginable pleasure, such that I fall to my knees in feverish gratitude to any god that dwelleth in the heavens above. Still caressed by the deft fingers of giddy pleasure, I bound towards that most welcome of sights, and at once take it into my arms and cradle it, for it hath a place in my heart like a child has in their maiden mother’s.

Lo, e’en the sound of the azure clothing tearing in twain is akin to the softest and most melodic of concertos, aye, it is not unlike the soft slide of the violin. From the crevice wafts an aroma so godly that the most stoic of warrior could not stay a tear, it draws from a man his deepest feelings, to manifest and spring forth.

Tearful, I draw from its clothing a single crisp, light dancing through it, for a moment seeming as though under the orders of some divine choreographer.  Aye, the mind swims with such perfect fallacy in the presence of such a thing. Drawing it closer, spring forth did the innermost of my being, such anticipation, such pleasure, even before it touched my lips.

Forsooth, upon the touch of this golden lovechild of crop and flame, pleasure beyond pleasure did spring forth as does the waterfall that breaks the dam with the force of a mighty god.

Sweet ambrosia and nectar have surely brought less joy touching the parched lips of the gods themselves,
Indeed the gaiety befits one walking the heavens, unencumbered by strife and laden with joys a thousandfold that felt in the most debauched and ecstatic of follies on this mortal ground.

Sweet, resplendent pieces of the sky itself; a taste that cannot be placed and yet one that dances such an exquisite ballet on the tongue. Truly a masterpiece.  A delicacy. 

Reviews

[Barbara Walker]

You have caused me to stop and contemplate the vastness of joys to which such adjectives can apply and I feel you have used these in the most amazing way and caused me to chuckle, as well.

[C]

Why thank you! I'm glad I could make you laugh.