chinese street food (poem)
Reminiscing on flavors hazy,
Of soft steam and broth’s deep glow.
Under neon lights so lazy,
Pots still bubble; flames still grow.
Vendors pull dough with practiced measure,
Motions soft yet swift as air.
In each string, a delicious pleasure.
Pulled with skill, a rare care.
Night wind passes with spice and savor,
A numbing kiss, a tender spark.
The night sky, looking down in favor.
Crowds humming softly in the dark.
Hotpot bowls, warmth radiating,
Soup that stews with invigorating spice.
Soft and smooth, the taste elating.
Chopsticks dance in crimson paradise.
A nostalgic craving always nagging,
Food, my irreplaceable love.