#foodie
Cumin queuing
Exchanged by the fiery springs
It flew away blowing
When the chill was as willed as the obtrusive sky
Made of cranes running
Up and down until it is down below the hips.
How one would crave the distinguished dish severely
Whose aroma is everything you have heard singly
The pearl-like freckles beneath its wings
Tastes like heaven-human savagely beating alive
Increasing one's height and appetite.
Oily hands that grip your heart,
Slippery slides of the familiar coconut.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 11:11 PM UTC
"i don't wanna have to be the one to tell you this,
but you're no foodie; you're just a ******
who's too cowardly to take an honest look at yourself.
It's okay to be whatever you want,
just don't lie to yourself proclaiming to be a foodie
to justify late-night trips to Jack in the Box four days a week,
or eating a whole jar of Tostitos 'Salsa con Queso' every two days.
Are you trying to mummify yourself with all those preservatives?
Y'know,
just because you blow most of your paychecks
on gasoline, **** food and overpriced coffee
pulled to the most pretentious of standards
doesn't at all begin to mean that you've got any class, taste, or style,
let alone that you're a foodie.
At least recycle all the paper products your pseudofood comes in.
Moreover, your thighs aren't ******* gluten,
they're all that other junk you eat habitually
while watching your oh-so-edified selection of films
before sleeping it off until 3 in the afternoon.
No wonder you're so full of ****
you are what you eat, I suppose.
Pull your head on out your ***
All that fat and cholesterol isn't for the faint of heart."
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 1:38 PM UTC
We eat in the restaurants
Eat in the bars
By the bistros
Against the street or on the ground
It does not matter where we are found
As we eat like we are dancing
With no one around
Who could possibly be watching?
Inside your own home
A house of a lone star
Impossibly pondering
How the pauper used wood
And turned it into cooking.
Food can be shared for
A life once cared for
Kept to yourself
Perhaps you beg not to share it
An octagon plate and octagon jades
Caramel vinegar rain
Tossing and turning with lightning veins.
Oct 13, 2018
Oct 13, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
I watch,
And I pull different pieces
Of her out the bowl.
Somewhat tangled and a bit messy.
I twist her all up even more,
And put her in my mouth.
The steam rising fresh from her.
My mouth catches her,
All of her.
Hot, slightly salty.
I love the way she makes me feel.
Eventually, her ways will become mine.
She isn't just some mess in a bowl.
And although I am hungry,
The pieces of her that I drag to my mouth. Are moderate.
I've never tasted anything like this
Before.
She isn't just a quick bite
Of temporary need.
My tongue, my gut,
My soul loves this tangled goodness.
She is my safe space
Nov 14, 2024
Nov 14, 2024 at 3:50 AM UTC
You stirred the ***
Taking parts of you.
Parts of me.
The good, the bad.
Even the things that aren’t
So pretty to look at.
And poured them into
The pan.
It’s easy to forget about
The hurt until you come
Face to face with it.
Sour peaches aren’t the end
Of the world.
No matter how we layer it.
These are the things we’ve
Come to love about each other.
Even the hurt becomes mixed
In a sugar glaze with enough time.
No matter how bitter.
The brown of my skin
Mixed with yours.
A recipe that’s been done
And passed down before our time.
No matter how much of a mess
We think that things are,
No matter how bruised a peach
We accidentally pick up.
Nothing can replace the warmth
Of a cobbler.
Straight from the oven.
Soon we’ll both be fast asleep.
Your head rising and falling on my chest
With each breath I take.
Jul 30, 2024
Jul 30, 2024 at 12:48 PM UTC
Éclair My Heart
Fill me up with custard’s glow,
soft as secrets whispered low.
Chocolate coat our midnight vows,
each bite a bow that time allows.
Glossy tease of vanilla sighs—
declare your love in pastry cries.
.
Jul 31, 2025
Jul 31, 2025 at 6:59 AM UTC