Tenticle Stew

Still obsessed with my lunch today, I have composed a poem to immortalize it.

Oh tentacle stew, I adore you
A mystery of squidgy white, spicy red, and purple curly suckers
You pull me into your depths as I frantically fight to swallow you down
Your enigma of flavors keeps you fresh in my mind and mouth all day
What are you, tentacle stew?

Wow, I think maybe I should stop, as this is becoming less an ode to lunch are more a letter to penthouse.