LUNCHTIME by Nwachukwu Olusegun Nwachukwu.


As your hard crust caressed my curved lips,
My mind imagined infinitely
The production process
Through which you were birthed…

The softness of your wheat fibres
Tickled my taste buds,
And at that moment,
I wanted nothing more.

Dear Wheat Bread, warm and tender,
Your taste lingers in my lingual flesh;
You gave my molars no resistance,
And my gastric mucosa bade you welcome.

© Nwachukwu Olusegun Nwachukwu.


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