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August 11, 2004 - A poem about Lust

Consume Immediately

O’ when will you devour me?
Turning me endlessly over the flames -
searing my tender heart like a cheap cut
on a queasy rack; hoping to be adored cuisine,
but ending up as drunken, mangled dogleg fat.
The heat and dry baste of you overpowers me,
spoils the subtle taste and sweetened juice of who I am.
The recipe, it clearly states: I need softening.
With marinade and seasoning - patiently prepared,
long before iron grill or flash pan griddled char.
And then, and only then with licking flames of care
will you slowly warm the tender flesh of me.


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