Given chance, I’d glut myself on your attention

Hungering for how we converse free of tension

This is not missing you: this is starving for you.

Your company is delicious to me anew

I rate it three stars, it’s Michelin quality

But the portions of you that I get are tiny

I am never replete.

Don’t shame my appetite; I crave voraciously

I rarely complain about your lack of plenty

So my rumbling empty ought not deserve disdain.

I’ll learn to savour you – my palate, I will train

I know well that I mustn’t consume you with haste

As you’re not filling, although delightful to taste

You’re a treat, not a meal.

There’s a strange aftertaste when I try you too fast

Salty tears and the bitterness of our shared past

Could this flavour be that which is called decadence

Or am I wrong in how I enjoy your presence?

Togetherness is a recipe hard to make

I’ve erred in its creation and would instead bake

Poison or addiction.

Pungent and repellant, a horror to ingest

I’ll admit you’re better for me sampled, if pressed

It sickens, ample plates of such rich emotion

So I hold on my tongue my words of devotion

Enjoy feeling the flavours burst like a fine wine

And learn to feed into poem, stanza and line

The taste that has this love.