Scorching with fury,
I cringe as it rounds my mouth, tasting of chicken
Scared that the burns will cover the roof of my mouth and tongue-
which feel as though they will last forever, may be gone within the next day.
I imagine the refreshing taste of the cooled soup.
The thought angers me, as I think of the time it will take for enjoyment.
As I reach out toward the rounded utensil my hand trembles.
I try to blow on the steaming hot soup I have gathered.
It ripples upon the silver, shining spoon and lightly touches my lower lip.
I am comforted by the taste of the savory remains.

I look down to find an empty bowl,
but a full and warm stomach.
Noticing a single tear that has streamed down my face, I imagine what I have left behind.
Thinking of the blissful moments of indulgence;
knowing my mind is as full as my stomach.
Oh how I wish I could taste it again,
the savory taste of alphabet soup.