It makes me sad how quickly
hot things go cold.
A few times a day
I look forward to the toasty
warmth of my nourishment.
But before I eat half of it,
the warmth has left it,
altering the flavor.
I eat it anyway, remembering
the first few bites,
the warmth on my tongue,
the steam up my nose,
relishing in my nostalgia.
Then before I know it,
it is gone.
