Reheated French Fries

I put them in my mouth without hesitation.
I put each of them, one by one, into my mouth,

And chew

Each shriveled appendage all yellow-brown,
Greasy, and unsatisfying.
They're just as I expected, and though
I hoped for some sort of surprise
In their hot sickly black pepper smell,
Nothing came. But there they go,
Mindlessly, one by one,
(and sometimes in pairs) into my mouth.
Each little reheated potato tentacle wrapping
About my heart
Coating it, crushing it, entwining it
With memories of the way they used to taste.