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trf Sep 2018
Spinning round a windy ledge,
i kiss the cross around my neck,
these fever dreams replace the likes of you.

Grinning into space, alone and lost,
the dampened linens lie,
     as i wake up,
     covered in fake love.

In my den the china white,
embraced my blood and laced my night,
an amuse-bouche of courses left to come.

The past three years I can't recall,
coulda been fun, but was it worth it all,
i'm a coma patient lacking an excuse.

is hard to come by,
are a stranger in my,
collude disguise.
lost my balance blinded by the darker truth
Anya Jul 2018
If you think about it
Is simply our mouth’s perception
Of food
A label
Way to identify
The real purpose
Is to be broken down
For fuel, to patch up, to help us grow
Basically construction material
We put so much emphasis on taste
We identify food with it
We have chefs
We have critics
We have pastry chefs
We have sous chefs
We have so many different varieties, cuisines, etc etc etc
Yet, it’s a whole field, a whole profession, a big deal out of nothing
As we humans are so skilled at doing
Is it nothing?
If you are a chef or love food and are reading this, nothing against you, I did not mean to offend. I was simply letting out the thoughts in my head, if you have an opinion or input please, comment. And if you have something that changes my perception I totally wouldn’t mind changing the poem.
kjforce Apr 2015

  This is the story of two lonely souls....
Who found each other, without cajoles...
Neither had ever had a mate....
Yet Jack and Gill decided to date.....
They felt an instant connection....
As both were Chefs and had a fixation....
One for Chicken the other for Bacon....
And so decided to take their direction....
From what they had learned in life....
Party animals that they were....
And perhaps now you can concure.....
Their feelings for each other....
Was so far from any another....
People just didn’t understand....
Why when they walked, it was always hand in hand....
They never strayed and held tight to their ways....
Believing their world was just another phase....
But eventually the world would accept you see....
That what they had was called * “ smaltzy “....
*Yiddish word for rendered chicken / animal fat or a garish over the top fancy party...
Who are we to judge others ? We should treat all like Sisters and Brothers...

— The End —