Poetry Forum - How might I serve you? (new title)

I am going to cook you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      your taste now
as complex as your aroma.
      Rendered free
from that veil of beauty,
      your cage of bones,
slow stirred
      in love’s long dance of heat
until pierced
      without resistance.

I am going to eat
      your tenderness, portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.

(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]This one's been rattling around in my head for some time and I finally got it down on paper. It started as just a poem about a favorite stew recipe, then took a dark turn. It's still a little raw(sorry) but I thought it's at a good stage to get input.

Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down great line
from my mother and hers, offers a cure mention of mother threw me off the "scent"
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you I kinda wanted this to be a standalone line.

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears, , or . ?
Careful to not over season. this being beginning of a new line
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red, drop comma, move blood to end this line
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season another great passage
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me. and nice ending.

I admit this is a strangley unsettling poem Confused

but the more I read it, the more I got out of it. I'm indifferent to most food, but beef stew is probably my favorite and also the first thing I ever learned to cook. As to my suggestions, keep in mind I may be misreading, if so let me know.

(02-25-2023, 07:17 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: [ -> ]
(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]This one's been rattling around in my head for some time and I finally got it down on paper. It started as just a poem about a favorite stew recipe, then took a dark turn. It's still a little raw(sorry) but I thought it's at a good stage to get input.

Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down great line
from my mother and hers, offers a cure mention of mother threw me off the "scent"
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you I kinda wanted this to be a standalone line. trying for fancy enjambment

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears, , or . ?
Careful to not over season. this being beginning of a new line yes, I missed the punctuation there
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red, drop comma, move blood to end this line referring to red wine, hence the comma.
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season another great passage
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me. and nice ending.

I admit this is a strangley unsettling poem but the more I read it, the more I got out of it. I'm indifferent to most food, but beef stew is probably my favorite and also the first thing I ever learned to cook. As to my suggestions, keep in mind I may be misreading, if so let me know.

I guess it is supposed to be a little unsettling, cannibalism and all. It's a work in progress. Again, thanks for reading and commenting.
Bryn

For me to view something as 'unsettling' it needs to be down to the bone, meaning to get all the extraneous stuff out of the way so as not to dilute.

In this vein, I would edit out ALL phrases and/or words such as "I am afraid" or "unsatisfied" b/c they are telling me what I should be feeling. There are others (many) and you say this is raw so I will refrain from too much 'rewriting'....it's just how I feel. Not as a writer, but as a reader.

The topic itself doesn't bother me, but for it to work to try and unsettle me, the subtleness should descend like a light mist toward that realization.

(02-26-2023, 12:54 PM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I guess it is supposed to be a little unsettling, cannibalism and all. It's a work in progress. Again, thanks for reading and commenting.
Bryn

Funny I didn't leap to cannibalism. I saw it as more erotic. I'm an oddball.

(02-27-2023, 09:49 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: [ -> ]
(02-26-2023, 12:54 PM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I guess it is supposed to be a little unsettling, cannibalism and all. It's a work in progress. Again, thanks for reading and commenting.
Bryn

Funny I didn't leap to cannibalism. I saw it as more erotic. I'm an oddball.

Well, it is implied and largely metaphorical. But the lines are blurry. To be honest, I am still a little undecided myself where it is going. Does anything in the middle stanzas resonate? I anticipated that a lot will need to be cut but want input on what adds to the narrative.
thanks,
bryn

(02-27-2023, 05:00 AM)71degrees Wrote: [ -> ]For me to view something as 'unsettling' it needs to be down to the bone, meaning to get all the extraneous stuff out of the way so as not to dilute.

In this vein, I would edit out ALL phrases and/or words such as "I am afraid" or "unsatisfied" b/c they are telling me what I should be feeling. There are others (many) and you say this is raw so I will refrain from too much 'rewriting'....it's just how I feel. Not as a writer, but as a reader.

The topic itself doesn't bother me, but for it to work to try and unsettle me, the subtleness should descend like a light mist toward that realization.

Hey 71,

Thanks for helping me hone my message. I agree needs to be whittled, so to speak.
bryn

(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]This one's been rattling around in my head for some time and I finally got it down on paper. It started as just a poem about a favorite stew recipe, then took a dark turn. It's still a little raw(sorry) but I thought it's at a good stage to get input.

Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down
from my mother and hers, offers a cure
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears,
careful to not over season.
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red,
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me.

It's always fun to write poems about cannibalism.
In green, the lines that stood out for me. The rest of the poem:

S1 plus the title gives away the cannibalism theme. There's no revelation at the end of the poem as a result - missed opportunity?
S2 didn't strike the right chords with me. Onions are pungent, but potatoes and carrots? The 'loamy earth' is a cliche. A half teaspoon of thyme alone to disguise the strong aroma of human flesh strikes me as being a little unrealistic.

The poem felt to me to be too long. The novelty of the theme, its macabre nature, gets lost in the tedium of lines following.

(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down
from my mother and hers, offers a cure
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears,
careful to not over season.
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red,
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me.

Hey Bryn,

I'm not real comfortable cutting into your poem, but I did some probaby excessive whittling. I'm standing by my reading of this as more erotic than macabre. I suppose eating and sex have a lot in common. Anyway, just a suggestion of what, for me, could be cut, without losing the essence of the poem. Although what I see as its subject seems far afield from what others see.

TqB

(02-27-2023, 11:11 PM)TranquillityBase Wrote: [ -> ]
(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down
from my mother and hers, offers a cure
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears,
careful to not over season.
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red,
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me.

Hey Bryn,

I'm not real comfortable cutting into your poem, but I did some probaby excessive whittling. I'm standing by my reading of this as more erotic than macabre. I suppose eating and sex have a lot in common. Anyway, just a suggestion of what, for me, could be cut, without losing the essence of the poem. Although what I see as its subject seems far afield from what others see.

TqB

TqB,

Don't be shy about ripping it up. I like most of your cuts, ones I will likely make myself. To me the poem will end up being both erotic and cannibalistic, the extreme of all consuming love.
Thanks for coming back and giving me more insight.
Later,
Bryn

(02-27-2023, 04:12 PM)busker Wrote: [ -> ]
(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]This one's been rattling around in my head for some time and I finally got it down on paper. It started as just a poem about a favorite stew recipe, then took a dark turn. It's still a little raw(sorry) but I thought it's at a good stage to get input.

Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down
from my mother and hers, offers a cure
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears,
careful to not over season.
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red,
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me.

It's always fun to write poems about cannibalism.
In green, the lines that stood out for me. The rest of the poem:

S1 plus the title gives away the cannibalism theme. There's no revelation at the end of the poem as a result - missed opportunity?
S2 didn't strike the right chords with me. Onions are pungent, but potatoes and carrots? The 'loamy earth' is a cliche. A half teaspoon of thyme alone to disguise the strong aroma of human flesh strikes me as being a little unrealistic.

The poem felt to me to be too long. The novelty of the theme, its macabre nature, gets lost in the tedium of lines following.

Hi Busker,
Thanks for your insight. I will have to think about how to keep the subject less obvious. The potato/carrot lines came from a recent experience of actually cutting them up and I was struck by the earthiness of the smell-hence the lines. I hadn't thought of hiding the smell of the human flesh, I was trying more for a play on time and thyme which doesn't seem to be working for anyone which is good to know.
Thanks again,
Bryn

Hi Steve-

Try a web search of a Twilght Zone episode called "To Serve Man". The set up in that episode is delicious, and could lend guidance to your idea. Your piece instantly reminded me of that episode.

That's all I have to add to your recipe,
Mark

(02-28-2023, 01:57 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: [ -> ]Hi Steve-

Try a web search of a Twilght Zone episode called "To Serve Man". The set up in that episode is delicious, and could lend guidance to your idea. Your piece instantly reminded me of that episode.

That's all I have to add to your recipe,
Mark

Thanks for the tip, Mark.

updated version

(03-03-2023, 07:56 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]updated version

Bravo!!

(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I am going to eat you.
      Eating is touch
          and touch is love.
              I live to love
                  and I must eat to live.

I am going to eat you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
      of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      salted
      until you are hidden
from the world.

I am going to eat you
      rendered free
          from the cage of your skin,
from tendon and sinew
      leaving nothing
      but your tenderness portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.

I will eat you with my fire, after
      a long slow dance
in the heat of my womb,
      an alchemic transformation until
I can pierce you
     without resistance. You are now
my natural food, consumed;
     so completely full in me.

I will confess to liking the original version more. This one has winnowed out all the eroticism I found in the original, going straight to the cannibalism angle.

That said, my one suggestion for this new version would be to drop the first stanza. The syllogistic progression (I hope that's the right phrase) seems a little overdone to me and doesn't add anything to the poem. Just jump right in with stanza 2.

TqB

(03-06-2023, 05:27 AM)71degrees Wrote: [ -> ]
(03-03-2023, 07:56 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]updated version

Bravo!!

Thanks Degrees

(03-07-2023, 02:08 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: [ -> ]
(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I am going to eat you.
      Eating is touch
          and touch is love.
              I live to love
                  and I must eat to live.

I am going to eat you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
      of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      salted
      until you are hidden
from the world.

I am going to eat you
      rendered free
          from the cage of your skin,
from tendon and sinew
      leaving nothing
      but your tenderness portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.

I will eat you with my fire, after
      a long slow dance
in the heat of my womb,
      an alchemic transformation until
I can pierce you
     without resistance. You are now
my natural food, consumed;
     so completely full in me.

I will confess to liking the original version more. This one has winnowed out all the eroticism I found in the original, going straight to the cannibalism angle.

That said, my one suggestion for this new version would be to drop the first stanza. The syllogistic progression (I hope that's the right phrase) seems a little overdone to me and doesn't add anything to the poem. Just jump right in with stanza 2.

TqB

Ah, the first stanza. Too clever by half, I guess. I spent a hot minute trying to get the progression just right! It was a risk I was willing to take, but i still feel I need a prelude stanza in some form. It's hard cause I like all the versions of my poems for different reasons. Kind of like my golf game. Lots of single shot brilliance. If I could put them all end to end, I could go pro! And now we thread the needle with shaky hand! Syllogistic, that is a great word!
Thanks a bunch.

Hi Steve-
Gettin closer, but you know me- less is more. I don't need the first or last stanzas.

I am going to eat you.
Eating is touch
and touch is love.
I live to love
and I must eat to live.
This lead-in is completely unnecessary (for me), and dilutes the poem.

I am going to eat you Much stronger if you open here- gets me straight into the kitchen. 'cook' instead of eat? since eating comes later.
smothered in shimmering oil 'smothered' is a good word choice.
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
translucent as tears. 'tears' is good, subtle word choice.
Buried under a mountain of red 'buried' is the right word. Good!
potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
of crushed cloves
of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
salted Of course there will be salt, but it isn't adding to this recipe.
until you are hidden
from the world. You lose a bit of the edge here- the slow stirring, and the smelling of the rich aromas are a vital, yet oddly missing element.

I am going to eat you
rendered free
from the cage of your skin, Aren't bones the cage of the body? 'bones' sounds spookier, too.
from tendon and sinew,
pierce you
without resistance, moved from s.3
leaving nothing
but your tenderness portioned
for my mouth
already tasting
the sweetness in your doom. I really do believe that the poem ends here, and it's a strong ending.

The following stanza is just anti-climactic
I will eat you with my fire, after
a long slow dance
in the heat of my womb,
an alchemic transformation until
I can pierce you
without resistance. You are now The bolded phrase could find a place in S.2
my natural food, consumed;
so completely full in me. This is just a weak ending, for me, at least. Ending at 'doom' is far stronger.

Of course, these are only suggestions, but this type of poem requires more impact for me to buy-in to its macabre subject. That impact could be delivered with less lines, and S.2/S.3 do that for me. I'm not asking you to reduce this piece to broth, I'm just saying what works for me, the reader, this reader. I think you have a complete poem if you just trim the fat, but add the stirring and smelling.

Perhaps the title could be 'Consumed'. It would work for both the 'recipe' that is eaten, and the fiendish desire of the cook.

.. Mark

(03-09-2023, 01:11 AM)Mark A Becker Wrote: [ -> ]Hi Steve-
Gettin closer, but you know me- less is more. I don't need the first or last stanzas.

I am going to eat you.
Eating is touch
and touch is love.
I live to love
and I must eat to live.
This lead-in is completely unnecessary (for me), and dilutes the poem.

I am going to eat you Much stronger if you open here- gets me straight into the kitchen. 'cook' instead of eat? since eating comes later.
smothered in shimmering oil 'smothered' is a good word choice.
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
translucent as tears. 'tears' is good, subtle word choice.
Buried under a mountain of red 'buried' is the right word. Good!
potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
of crushed cloves
of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
salted Of course there will be salt, but it isn't adding to this recipe.
until you are hidden
from the world. You lose a bit of the edge here- the slow stirring, and the smelling of the rich aromas are a vital, yet oddly missing element.

I am going to eat you
rendered free
from the cage of your skin, Aren't bones the cage of the body? 'bones' sounds spookier, too.
from tendon and sinew,
pierce you
without resistance, moved from s.3
leaving nothing
but your tenderness portioned
for my mouth
already tasting
the sweetness in your doom. I really do believe that the poem ends here, and it's a strong ending.

The following stanza is just anti-climactic
I will eat you with my fire, after
a long slow dance
in the heat of my womb,
an alchemic transformation until
I can pierce you
without resistance. You are now The bolded phrase could find a place in S.2
my natural food, consumed;
so completely full in me. This is just a weak ending, for me, at least. Ending at 'doom' is far stronger.

Of course, these are only suggestions, but this type of poem requires more impact for me to buy-in to its macabre subject. That impact could be delivered with less lines, and S.2/S.3 do that for me. I'm not asking you to reduce this piece to broth, I'm just saying what works for me, the reader, this reader. I think you have a complete poem if you just trim the fat, but add the stirring and smelling.

Perhaps the title could be 'Consumed'. It would work for both the 'recipe' that is eaten, and the fiendish desire of the cook.

.. Mark

Morning! You gave me a lot of intriguing suggestions. I reworked it and posted the revisions above. Thanks for your time and effort.
steve

(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I am going to cook you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      your taste now
as complex as your aroma.
      Rendered free
from that veil of beauty,
      your cage of bones,
slow stirred
      in love’s long dance of heat
until pierced
      without resistance.

I am going to eat
      your tenderness, portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.

Good job. Definitely like this version best. Some of the tone I felt missing is back! Like the new title too.

(03-10-2023, 02:44 AM)TranquillityBase Wrote: [ -> ]
(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I am going to cook you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      your taste now
as complex as your aroma.
      Rendered free
from that veil of beauty,
      your cage of bones,
slow stirred
      in love’s long dance of heat
until pierced
      without resistance.

I am going to eat
      your tenderness, portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.

Good job. Definitely like this version best. Some of the tone I felt missing is back! Like the new title too.

Hi Tqb,
Glad you like it. thanks for your feedback. Every bit helps to hone the message. The title came from a suggestion from Mark about a Twilight episode called "To serve Man".

(02-25-2023, 02:26 AM)brynmawr1 Wrote: [ -> ]I am going to cook you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      your taste now
as complex as your aroma.
      Rendered free
from that veil of beauty, cut straight to rhe chase
      your cage of bones,
slow stirred
      in love’s long dance of heat
until pierced
      without resistance.

I am going to eat
      your tenderness, portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.
helping you nudge this one along has been fun! I think that you’ve created an interesting piece of work. Way to go, Steve!

I am going to eat you.
      Eating is touch
          and touch is love.
              I live to love
                  and I must eat to live.

I am going to eat you
       smothered in shimmering oil
sizzled in a tumble of onions,
       translucent as tears.
Buried under a mountain of red
      potatoes and orange carrots.
Wrapped in a garland
      of crushed cloves
      of garlic, fresh sprigs of thyme
      salted
      until you are hidden
from the world.

I am going to eat you
      rendered free
          from the cage of your skin,
from tendon and sinew
      leaving nothing
      but your tenderness portioned
for my mouth
      already tasting
the sweetness in your doom.

I will eat you with my fire, after
      a long slow dance
in the heat of my womb,
      an alchemic transformation until
I can pierce you
     without resistance. You are now
my natural food, consumed;
     so completely full in me.

This one's been rattling around in my head for some time and I finally got it down on paper. It started as just a poem about a favorite stew recipe, then took a dark turn. It's still a little raw(sorry) but I thought it's at a good stage to get input.

Love's Awful Consumption

Darling, I am afraid I have a hunger,
a savage desire unsatisfied. Your taste,
as you are, has never been as complex
as your scent.  A recipe, passed down
from my mother and hers, offers a cure
for your dim flavors.  So, let me cook you

a meal.  It begins in shimmering oil a tumble
of onions, medium dice, sautéed soft,
translucent, just to the point of tears,
careful to not over season.
A half teaspoon of thyme, no more,
lest you become tiresome. Now potatoes
cubed, carrots sliced on the bias, offering
pungent notes of loamy earth to play
with the flesh it craves. You will feel better

when freed from tedious tendon
and sinew, your tenderness bite-sized.
My contribution, two cups red,
blood offered enhances the umami
of the gravy and bone dust to thicken

and for mouth feel.  Into the oven, a long steep
in the heat of a womb, a slow dance of sin,
an alchemic transformation until you can
be pierced without resistance.  Season
to taste with forgiveness.  Finally,

becoming my natural food, consumed
with crusty bread to sop up the rest
of you, now completely full in me.