When asked to anthropomorphize any and all that I eat… (I list things hardly ever swallowed…fully)

I.  Jawbreaker

Not meant to fit between teeth, I lockjaw. Pirouette against molar in a gritty grind against anxiety. No words for pig-tail girl as she hopscotches into never after. In all her beginnings of becoming a seasoned Pisces, I am there oil-slick,marbling the fleshed ground that is future. Saccharine, isn’t it, how I coat in dextrose, dextrous in bowl and pin? I’m hard to swallow, even harder to choke up. I’ll come from your mouth a wet slap to palm, abrasive, loud. You’ll covet the first chance to brush your teeth. Oh, you’ll covet it.

II.  Spoonful of Peanut Butter

Simply, if one says they want to be healthier; I’m flexible. A fit to the mold of your cheeks kind of cream. I mollify those screams for women’s rights, for sleep, for a week to be more than 168 hours, for gas to come, profusely. I am delectable, a natural beauty to the under-trees, but my sympathies are gummed, tenacious, sticky in the throat and down-slope of your wanting. I’m beck and call, fairly late-for-my-appointment rush and midnight mum. Work me and I’ll scale the pink, moist space. You’ll remember my bitter sweet. My smothering charity.
III.  Four Cheese Rotini Pasta

Coarsely grated, finely parmed, I’ve crumbled into the saucepot like a fangirl baby. Portobella mushroomed, shiitake savoryed, I eventually soup. I eventually cleave a film of peppered beauty to the rim of a goddess’s glasses. She stirs then fa-lops me, tells me I ain’t got enough milk to keep her maws busy. Layering me thin, I corkscrew into being hefty, one grain more than a cheese-drizzling bite on a summer’s day. I’m for the night, her narrowed air pursed between dry lips for me. She craves me and the quick jab and twirl is just part of the sample game’s name. She will eat me, bit by bit, even after her stomach grows full. I will weigh her down into the depths of a cushion’s empathy. Never necessary, but I make you want to bury yourself to no sleep.