The steam that withers away
The juicy taste good for the day
The salt in my tounge seems to stay
As I sit on a bench by the bay
The red touch of it's exsistance
The fried brown crisps makes appearance
As the bread becomes assistance
As both softness creates the balance
They who sells them cheap
Hotdog I could keep
Till I finish I would leap
From joy by night I could finally sleep
©swee7_
S