
I can do okay unless the scent
Of my favorite which is sent
To me or see it on someone’s plate
My stomach begs, ready to sate
My desire of the forbidden food
And swiping it off someone’s plate is rude.
Oh well, I turn away and sigh
No need to add to my thighs
I look at my own plate, greens upon ya,
Which I love but they’re no lasagna!
***
Poetic license?😂
W3 Prompt #118: Wea’ve Written Weekly









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