A pickle’s tip is not enough for you.
Its going all in.
Taste is a side dish, too.

Savor the mooned lemons,
the skin’s sahara’s,
or the two parallel
ulurus.

Don’t forget your sin.

You take food off the table–
from your neighbours, too.
Your hunger could ****.

Take your worn-out maps–
old lessons of geography–
skim your finger
in between the iced caps.

Kiss the foreign,
the countries that don’t belong
to you.

Take it all, avariced ****.

***, to you,
is a selfish meal.