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Pale yellow as winter sun I pared it away
under the knife
urging it open to my sight.
Breaking through the round perfect globe of a dumpling.
There was that sigh
that came from this execution.
A sigh that we break perfection
for the sake of our own gluttony.
And then
I lift the fork
to my lips
to taste what I desire.
My assassination of the dumpling.
The gravies on my plate draw back.
The witness to my crime.
love the allegory here…”the gravies as witness”
and my my…i just love chicken and dumplings….
tasty offering here, Christine…
j.
Thank you for your comment, Jacob.
As a food lover/worshiper, I appreciated every delicious syllable. I’ve known that feeling!
Thank you for your comment, Shirley.