Making out with your food.

Let's all do the hungry dance.
Ill fancy your french fry if you let me have some
tickles.
And don't worry where the salt may lie,For all i know it's buried in my sigh

The sigh that is so salty and dry
Like the sarcasm that hits you
with desert wind,
makes you dry too,
but dry isn't the only one, what about
a humid sweaty mouth,
full of spring showers that soak those around
oozing drool leaking out the creases of your lips.
Which would you rather make out with?


A slobbery fool or a dry spoken maniac

Imagine...
That dry tongue licking your mouth clean,
like sandpaper candy, or toothbrush bristles
filing away at the unseen.

Or the wet seal that wiggles around,
slitherling slowly like a slug,
leaving a trail between your teeth and gum.

Is there balance, something to find?
You search and search for the one of a kind
When you see it is there some kinda sign?

Or is it just chance, luck, coincidence?
I don't know, ask yourself. that.