"julienned" poems - Hello Poetry

I want you to consume me as I do you put me in your mouth chew me up swallow me to be absorbed in your system because you have been drained of me the smell of cooked meat is too strong in my nostrils to ignore the sizzle of oil in the pan is your fingers running across my stomach the steam from that *** is the way my heart flurries when you look at me I can’t consume anything because I want to consume you and you can control the temperature of the pan and you can check the doneness of the meat and you can whisk the homemade gravy until it thickens but can you find me hidden in your meal? we marry together like pork and apples like steak and potatoes like crepes and dulce de leche but my shell is cracking and my form is melting and my alcohol is evaporating I am being sautéed, julienned and sous-vided by you I am losing my flavour do you promise your pigs you won’t hurt them before you carve the meat off their bones? I don’t wish to be hung in a cellar with all the other carcasses you’ve left hanging by a hook and swinging, the blood draining from their bodies I can’t cook but I would cook you: reheat your stock, and rehydrate your fruit, and flash fry your heart so your colour returned and you were mine, on my plate, at my table, holding my hand, and I could consume the only thing I want: you yes, chef you.

0

Jun 2, 2014

Jun 2, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC

rebecca-gismondi

Meat

I want you to consume me as I do you put me in your mouth chew me up swallow me to be absorbed in your system because you have been drained of me the smell of cooked meat is too strong in my nostrils to ignore the sizzle of oil in the pan is your fingers running across my stomach the steam from that *** is the way my heart flurries when you look at me I can’t consume anything because I want to consume you and you can control the temperature of the pan and you can check the doneness of the meat and you can whisk the homemade gravy until it thickens but can you find me hidden in your meal? we marry together like pork and apples like steak and potatoes like crepes and dulce de leche but my shell is cracking and my form is melting and my alcohol is evaporating I am being sautéed, julienned and sous-vided by you I am losing my flavour do you promise your pigs you won’t hurt them before you carve the meat off their bones? I don’t wish to be hung in a cellar with all the other carcasses you’ve left hanging by a hook and swinging, the blood draining from their bodies I can’t cook but I would cook you: reheat your stock, and rehydrate your fruit, and flash fry your heart so your colour returned and you were mine, on my plate, at my table, holding my hand, and I could consume the only thing I want: you yes, chef you.

45

Repetitive volutions of countless revolutions supplying finite rations killing future generations. The stimulation of deep ire by faux mutation of fire burning rocks of ice like useless sacrifice. Yet the berserk scramble to the solution of inevitable social dissolution only sees to the ratification of society’s julienned stratification Scrabbling frantically in an upwards city encompassing dictated veracity within confines of a progressive nation unaware of its gradual resignation.

0

Mar 31, 2019

Mar 31, 2019 at 11:50 AM UTC

xpzlol

The evolution of devolution

Repetitive volutions of countless revolutions supplying finite rations killing future generations. The stimulation of deep ire by faux mutation of fire burning rocks of ice like useless sacrifice. Yet the berserk scramble to the solution of inevitable social dissolution only sees to the ratification of society’s julienned stratification Scrabbling frantically in an upwards city encompassing dictated veracity within confines of a progressive nation unaware of its gradual resignation.

16

Ruled paper bleeding ink scribbles shrieking open lacerations into blue and red arteries. Veins pulsating curiosity but cornered by anxiety assuming that the dialect I use to write is ill with idiocracy. “Idiot” screamed in bold letters from a fountain pen, permanent pollution of this ocean that I’m drowning in. Scissor-fanged sharks circle ‘round the toxicity, chew my paper submarine, a vessel crushed beneath the sea. Vessels to my heart julienned, cut open during surgery. They couldn’t pull me from the deep in time before the flatline beep.

0

Dec 20, 2018

Dec 20, 2018 at 2:43 AM UTC

an_angry_poet

Panic Paper

Ruled paper bleeding ink scribbles shrieking open lacerations into blue and red arteries. Veins pulsating curiosity but cornered by anxiety assuming that the dialect I use to write is ill with idiocracy. “Idiot” screamed in bold letters from a fountain pen, permanent pollution of this ocean that I’m drowning in. Scissor-fanged sharks circle ‘round the toxicity, chew my paper submarine, a vessel crushed beneath the sea. Vessels to my heart julienned, cut open during surgery. They couldn’t pull me from the deep in time before the flatline beep.

24