Oh taco,
you tight-lipped temptress,
soft or hard-
either way, I'm intrigued.
You're the only thing I stare down fully dressed,
I still expect to blow my mind.
You sit there, I spread you open,
hot meat glistening - 
slick, and greedy for attention.
And your smell - 
oh, it hits before I'm even close:
savory, smoky, with a hint of spice
that tickles at the bottom of my spine.
Fat melting into flavor,
lettuce like lace
sour cream dripping where it pleases.
You saucy little thing - 
you don't ask permission,
you demand to be eaten.
Is that cheese or are you just
melting under pressure?
You know exactly
what you do to me taco
as your juice runs down my wrist.
You're my greatest temptation,
tight in all the right places - 
barely holding it together
and proud to spill over
when things get too messy
so I need to use my hands.
I go in - mouth first, eyes closed
you don't judge,
you encourage.
If you could talk you'd say "baby, eat me like you mean it."
Napkins? Please.
If it ain't on my face,
I didn't eat it right.
So here's to you, you delicious, little slit.
part snack, part sin,
you're the three-minute affair
I never feel guilty about.