2015-09-02 19.27.20

I’d sing you

but you’re stuck in my throat,

a hunk of marbled flesh

your fat

coats my tongue,

leaving me mute

and obscene.


I risk heartburn

with every bite,

but I’d rather smack

my lips than lick

them clean. Sated

hunger is greedy

to forget appetite.


Salt of the earth,

you’re well-seasoned

And I’m sour

you’ve put down roots

elsewhere. I want

a private meal,

and you’ve been a banquet.



parasite, your flavour

still lingers. I’d sing you

if I could get you down,

I’d swallow you whole

but there’d be nothing

to savour.