Yes, I am hungry.
These are meals I would devour:
Scrambled eggs with buttered whole wheat toast,
ovum, milk and seed.
All regrets, well chewed and swallowed
and shat into a shallow hole dug with my trowel
and covered with dirt and leaves
leaving no trace.
Your legs, your hips, your breasts,
your suntanned skin
from shoulder to neck to ear,
your eyes sparkling beneath a knit ski cap.
Big gulps of bitterness I would sweat out
transformed into drops of love.
And sweet corn, for God’s sake,
crisp and juicy.