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'I Love Liquorice' said no one, ever. (Poem)

It’s dull black sheen is somewhat enticing:

I know what is yet to come.

From the first touch of the tongue

it’s hardened exterior begins to melt

and at once the sickly and intense aroma seeps out,

enveloping the taste-buds,

intensifying with every slight twist of the tongue.

Desperate to rid my mouth of it’s overpowering flavour,

my teeth clamp over the thick cable:

a grave mistake.

Grimacing, my mouth is flooded with saliva.

My face contorts at the bitter taste of regret.

The texture is just how I imagine it feels to eat blu-tack —

only stickier.

Like tar, it latches onto the gums

and it cements itself to the teeth.

All the while; unleashing its vile perfume.

Even after you swallow,

it still lingers.

Even after you scrape its remnants from your teeth,

it still remains

on your blackened tongue

and in your grey tinged spit.