I simmer in truth
stirring in the silence
waving away the clouds of steam
swimming in high air.
In Hell's kitchen
the menu offered
a delicacy;
a one of a time special...
Stewing in my thoughts:
What do you have cooking
good looking?
It's a horrible dish
unless you sit across from me
eyes locked
asking to pass the salt
across the table.
Rub it in deep.
I felt only a season of you.
Maybe I'm too bland,
but there's a
pressure lumbering
as if there was an elephant
on my chest.
My ribs ache.
Where did you get this recipe
for disaster?
Bitter side glances.
Odiferous, drunken advances.
I've been boiling, turning, lifeless
in the middle
of a four course spread.
Tea for two...
clinging glasses of wine.
Everyone is here for blowout time,
but it's my head on the platter,
and your carving knives
take the first cut.
I hope you feel nourished.
I have been picked apart.
After there is nothing but a shell
of my body
I hope you have
at least
saved my heart.
It was yours anyway.
