You used to crave me.

I was fresh from the oven
Still steaming
Sauce dripping
You could smell each spice individually
You noticed the garnish
You were there to check on me before the timer went off

Unable to wait,
You'd take the first slice
Sauce smeared on your face
Fork and knife a blur

Second and third helpings were a given
And you were sure to order it the next night
You'd lick your plate clean
You'd lick the serving dish

Never a scrap went to waste

But lately you accept a polite portion
You wait until the right moment to lift your knife and fork
Your tiny bites aren't enough to appreciate robust flavor and savory scent
Your left-behind scraps contain the new spice that you failed to notice

You leave another meal's worth of leftovers in the pan
It sits and watches as the refrigerator door opens and closes
You'll pick at it
Eat a slice with your main dish

The scraps at the bottom aren't edible by the time you get to them
And you're in no hurry to start again
The spices aren't tempting you from the cabinet
You don't see the sauce in every plump vegetable you see
You don't get hungry just by catching a glance of the recipe or the oven or the carving knife

Who knows the next time you'll have a taste.
Your oven is cold, your whisk and spatula sparkling clean, and the sauce splatters have faded from your shirts.
Your tongue seems to have forgotten.