Ode to a Disneyland Churro

I have arrived.
Through heaving crowds
I rush eagerly
and approach
with perspiring brow.


There you are
priced at $3.00,
sitting in a diminutive booth
ran by an employee
who knows nothing
of your genuineness.
I hand over gas money,
then handed to me is you.
I gently grip your long body.
Sugar flakes
falling lightly on my pants.
My fingers attract
your shiny tiny cubes,
soon to be
covetous of my
tongue's pleasure.
I open my mouth,
eyes closed,
hearing the crushing,
collapsing sweet bread,
taste buds thrilled
of the
luscious sweet.
I wipe around my mouth,
lick,
clap hands
to release excess sugar

Oblivious to fatigue,
I am done, content.