Barely perceptible as an actual smell,
no immediate fragrance to wallow in.
Deliciously heaped and hot,
like melted Hershey’s and marshmallows –
If this is paradise, I would fly like a pig!
shamelessly gratuitous like hippo’s warm mud
An odour to wring nerves
cluttered and nauseous
turning a jadeite shade of green
what man discards animals take
strangle tirelessly in one’s panic
scrabbling through oxygenic despair
be blinded by your terrible faith
Books stacked and toppling
over one another in delight –
the eyes are tempted.
Plato. Hegel. Ptolemy.
Knowledge is power. Know thyself.
Hands make the first move
but no one prepares themselves
for the reeling voraciousness
of mildewed antiquity
The sweet and sickly
that mask, then entice.
Even the sickle Death brings
is no match for the appetite
that now commands I
to slowly carve a piece and swallow it.
Bloodsport. Torn into pieces.
Bread unto butter. God into me.
Gluteus maximus – utter thee, Momus!
People who see rainbows
in different scents
must seek out the tartness of mangoes
in Pacifico’s curves.
I write, therefore I am –
I shit, therefore I am?
Who dare claims that air fills them
just as much as a juicy tenderloin steak?
You know, I wonder how xenon actually tastes like
© Zelda Reville