A Duet On Fried Chicken

Sometimes, when the tall trees fade into black silky silhouettes, the calm wind caresses my skin. And when it caresses, it hums a haunting melody. One that echoes around. One that seeps into my senses. One that becomes my salvation. “Fried chicken….friend chicken…..fried chicken…..”

On nights like this, as I contain myself within the four walls of my save zone, I try not to think, hopeless drops drip from my droopy lips. My mouth waters in vain as I reminisce that crispy, tender slice. The piece that warms my heart and sets my senses on fire.The fiesta of flavours ignite and incite my taste buds like a gastronomical fire. The skin, its crunch tantalising my teeth, its oil oozing orgasmically, its sensation, singing a resonating rhythm of perfection.

I’m driven by insanity as I try to fight the excruciating crave. Flashes of the crisp gold skin set my bones on fire. My taste buds yearn for what used to be my every Tuesday meal. Now I sit by myself, in this empty void. For what used to be my joy, begins to consume the little ounce of sanity I have kept, safe- guarded from temptations just like this.