Over Salted Nonsense

Boiling motives.
Intricate red hot motives.
Like the coils of an electric stove.
DO NOT TOUCH they scream in promised agony.

And even as I write this, a 4 piece band at my favorite bar squeals Billy Jean by Michael Jackson, begging, willing me from touching the coils.

But these eyes; they eat.
Biting, tasting the world in ways unimaginable.

And we're driven by these sumptuous creme brulee'd experiences.
Staring at the coils of a burning grill; unconsciously desirious of throwing oneself on it like a roast.

Seared. Charbroiled. And eventually Burnt in skin, crispy and inedible.

But the band, like more appetizing things in life, draws me away.
But the eyes still rage with hope to eat the dangerous, sumptuous, tempting and over salted nonsense.