UnPoetia:Ode to the Crunchy Cheese Clinging to the Teflon of my George Foreman Grill

Poetry for people who hate poetry

Mystical substance, thou art revered,

In the joyous crunching of my off-white teeth,

To the roof of my mouth your taste is adhered,

And in the glorious scrunching of my bowels beneath.

My guilty pleasure, thou art concealed,

Under bubbling masses of moist cheese congealed,

But whilst mine attention appears rapt on the melt,

It's what lies below that the heavens have dealt.

Yes, the sandwich is artfully grilled, it is true,

By the cheap Chinese merchandise of some punch drunk schmoe,

It's a wonder the goodness this grill can imbue,

Given that George was just in for the dough.

And my waiting lips yearn for your crispy delight,

To be scraped and devoured, in the still of the night.