An Appetite for
Stake and Whine

i.

A thirst from salty,
canon disgrace
lingers in the lulling
seconds of liberation
tempted by tongue’s cusp.

ii.

Spices. Nuzzling, settling,
wooing brine in coddles
of clutched distaste;
lolls in minute savoriness,
melted incandescence.

Fondling nerves
with familiar scents
and tastes.

iii.

(
chewing.
)

iv.

Sparks clink,
deluging the gamboling, famished,
strident cords.

Overindulge

on the nethermost luxuries
of ravenous grit

and comfortable flavours.

Metal against marrow,
slightly missing
gnawed flesh,
soft tissue,
skinless, where
this hard palette is
almost raw.

Beckon – the bites from nips –
and tickle the grappling touches,
kicking tinder doused fervor
unto sinewy
hours
of ravaging flicker’s crave.

A banquet most tantalizing is
an execution less gutting.

v.

S w i g s
o f
s i p s.

vi.

Pass the gorge’s extracting inhale
into steely glints spat
through frisky vestiges
of satisfaction.

A lazed grin permeates in this succession
– validating wallows of weltered sin –
as herbal cures cavort in lapses…

… of daily decrees, loosely uttered
in drunken warbles;

vii.

a saltish deliverance.