I cooked this up, it tastes like love
- the crisp-fried basil, just the touch
upon a rich and sumptuous cut -
a chop of beef so fat with blood,
seared charred outside, but rare within
just like I know you like your meat,
your heart, and all you touch with sin
too hot by half! - but deft, and neat
pulled out of flame, your saving fork
- and then the knife comes out. You fool
your share of everyone you meet.
I've made this plate up just for you.
The baked potato hot, the skin
with crust of salt, the flesh so white
and fluffy, ready to dig in -
here's sour cream and and butterknife,
and here are chives, and bacon bits
you never had much use for those,
but here they are. Here's everything,
and all the best.
But save some room - dessert
comes next.
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