How might I serve you? (new title)

[brynmawr1]

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.

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.