O such profound longings in the mouth— for broiled tomatoes and cheese, soft grilled eggplant, the salty pop of little sea-grapes. All you can eat sushi or kimbap. So much pumpernickel and rye, crocks of butter, wedges of cheese. How many geese gave the feathers from their breasts to lie in smoky pan drippings? At the smorgasbord, a fly large as a pendant recreates a Dutch still life: gleaming crystal goblet, decanter of sweet wine, massed hydrangeas shrinking in oversized vases. Vanitas, declares a trio of musk-scented candles. Amuse-bouche of milkfish belly and lemongrass. Everything that kissed the knife, reduced to slick garments of themselves: steamed chicken feet, ribboned and quivering jellyfish. We can't help it, can't stop; want to swallow the whole world if we could. We use polished silver. Or even just our hands.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.