Skewer a bleak piece of meat, bruising rhythmic hips bumped up against Formica while stirring slow, marinating salty—still angry about yesterday and lemons.
It’s morning and you’re sorry, subtly flavored savory with a Worcestershire bite. Nibbling juicy, like lime flesh lolling open
to peel my onion layers one by one to the floor; petaled out until just the rawness remains. Teasing taste buds into taut lines, forgiven rows rolled over
tongue. Delicious. Peppered red and seedy-sore now, but satisfied that we won’t forget our manners at the dinner table. Folded
tee *** napkins, folded hands and don’t touch the silverware. Yet.
Eat it bare or not at all. Swallow. Whole. Ask for seconds, maybe thirds if you’re vulnerable.
And I think from the throb in your throat, (a tender, exposed *****) that you’re stirring to be.
First Published By: Gutter Eloquence Magazine--http://www.guttereloquence.com/issue11/kkeith11.html