For example, gyudon, ramen, pancakes, and sweets with a stylish name with plenty of fresh cream. It's strange, and at night, gourmet food with high calories flickers in my head. "When you eat now, you mean in Atay fat of the ...?" In the dark that, remembered the smell first, and to crawl the tongue to breath escaping from the mouth overflowing endlessly appetite, and the other, does not stop.

But then we can put our fingers in the deep poemer time of the night-it's brave, sweet, painful, poetic and melancholic, and embarrassing when we think about it later. As you may have experienced, the imagination of a sleepless late night far exceeds that of the daytime, for better or for worse. "Poem to endure a midnight snack" is not a bad choice.

Then, what kind of poem should I write? Due to time zone issues, many poemers set the theme of "romance." Love should be like this, this should be the system enlightenment poem, the system unrequited love poem that I can not convey even though I think so much, I love you I want to get married system early and dust poem, but after all it can be seen by everyone It's a sin to be cute. There is no time to list "how to sing love" such as misunderstanding poems, but in any case, it will still be embarrassing afterwards, so at this time you can write as you like. You can run it.

"Well, but no one likes it ...", there may be such a direction. In such a case, please remember the chest-squeezing gestures and body parts of the opposite sex (or same sex). The strong blood vessels on the back of my hand that I saw when I was handed over the documents. The delicate collarbone peeking through the pink blouse that I fell in love with while commuting. I just wanted to protect her, I wanted to protect her. All you have to do is pour all of your appetite into that tokimeki. "I don't have emotions or anything like that," oh, oh ... I don't know that anymore.

Another thing that is indispensable for poem creation. What kind of tools / means did you think of when you heard "writing poems"? For those of you reading this article, I expect Facebook, Twitter, mixi's diary, or LINE to come to your mind rather than "paper and pencil." At the same time, I think he used a ruthless defensive consciousness, such as "Shame on a friend with just a moment of sentimentalism is just the essence of foolishness (laughs)." Then simply set up an anonymous blog just for this purpose. Why not create a Twitter sub-account? Why don't you ask the world about the cry of your soul?

"A little you, if you let it go that far and your appetite doesn't go away, it's okay (= regrettable)." First of all, please calm down and take a look at the following two poeming stories. All of them are relatively popular cases, so they should be helpful.

● Case 1 "Her Poem with a Broken Heart"

At 2:00 pm, when I ran through the side of the sleeper, cheating on my stomach with a modest supper, my head was strangely clear. I was worried. I was worried about my lack of vocabulary. A poem that combines the pain and pain of each day, with the same words coming and going, and stopping, is vacantly stepping on the lime.

It's been an hour since I crouched in the futon. I wanted to eat something sweet ... I remembered the pancakes I saw in the magazine yesterday, but I wondered how many people would be happy if I had a very big pancake. By the way, my thoughts stopped.

A big pancake, maybe Ayers Rock.

This is the place where we traveled together before we parted from him. The sky was wide. The wind was hot. The red of the setting sun shining from a distance cast a shadow on the hollow of the rock. He laughed that it was like a movie and said he loved it. I thought I was told that I love you. Yet-a sweet syrup-like golden libido burst from my fingertips, and my loss of appetite jumped to the ends of the universe.

"I wish my thoughts crossed the mountains, crossed the sea, wandered in the wilderness, and became a song from a distant country. I came back on the music scene where reimported bands from overseas are highly regarded. I wish I could someday reach his ears and deep inside my heart, something that was already thirsty. Thank you for listening to it, "It's a good song."

A little bit of hatred spice is added to the pain and pain, and 140 characters are added, pulled, sharpened, and sharpened. That day, as if I hit his cheek, the screen of my smartphone was displayed over and over again ...

The next morning, I woke up with a Twitter notification sound. The enumeration of embarrassing characters drowning at night is now sadly refreshing. Ayers Rock-sized pancakes don't make even just one pair of men and women happy.

I'm still waiting for the breakfast toast to bake today.

● Case 2 "His Poem Enlightened"

When I first saw her, I took a breath. Under the sky that seemed to shed light ink, it seemed as if a ray of light had shined into a life in which a postman's bite surpassed the glue and groped in the darkness.

I took him home and untied his kimono. Soaking in water and stroking white, glossy, ball-like beautiful skin made me think that something was precious and powerful, and eventually I stopped my hand and fell in love with her swaying in the water. There is nothing else. Just standing still, I was drawn to the bottom of the night with her.

It was the first time for me to have a brighter night than noon. I gently picked her up from the completely slimy water and laid her supple body in front of me. When she noticed that she was wearing clean sweat and shining brightly, feeling even more beautiful and mellow when she was in my room with yellow walls and litter on the floor. , I was just one hungry beast.

Using various tools that I had at hand, I groped while looking at her face, and made full use of the technique that I saw someday, and stimulated her soft skin violently. She gradually became hot and quivered like a small bounce, which was enough to steal the remnants of my reason. Without hesitation, I rolled my tongue over my blazing body, and she tried to shake it off mine to escape, but still forced her to chew all of her. Maybe he was seeking salvation. There was no malice there. I'm not bad, not bad, but the deeds are so stupid and shallow that I remember the great excitement I've never felt before.

"It is said that there is actually a strange relationship that is told in the novel, the so-called" encounter of fate ", but I see, like that, to the left as far as Nirvana, I am fascinated by you, especially the cost. I fell in love with the performance, sprouts. "

It was just before the end. Recalling this month's rent payment without any scion, I grabbed a pencil instead of chopsticks, wrote a stroke, and ended up. "38 yen" That is her value. Although it is cheap, eating it all at once imposes a pressing household budget. As a person who should be obsessed with "simple life", it should never be repeated. With this poem as a commandment, she now decides to eat her bean sprouts in three parts.

――How is it? These two stories are pure fiction, but I'm convinced by the sentimental guys who have been mass-producing midnight poems so far about "how to create poems (= forget about hunger)".・ I think that you have sympathized with me, and I must have been able to present one direction to everyone who is about to set foot on the Poem Road.

Regarding the complaint that "Tsuka, the second story has a different purpose, isn't it?", I admit that it is a mistake of the author. However, I have already investigated the cause of "because I wanted to eat bean sprouts even when I was full as a result of too much emotional empathy", and I also have the feeling that "this may be a good reference material". I want you to forgive me with a broad heart here.

Finally, "writing poems on a hungry night" is really effective, as I've said so far. The mass of embarrassment that remains in the morning is, so to speak, a proof of youth. We want each of you to enjoy the poemer life "to put up with the midnight snack" as you wish.

* For the cooking method of stir-fried bean sprouts, I referred to Cookpad.

(Sentence: Daughter of Kyoto Sanjo Itoya)