Mutual mastication
“Continue, O chickpea, to boil in tribulation
until neither existence nor self remains to thee”
Rumi
O hommous, processed manna to my soul
I wish you were an ocean into which
I could dive and wherein could sweetly drown
O hommous, you lie beyond solidity
and defy fluidity. You dissolve
the rigidity of hearts and minds and bowels
O hommous, you are the serving hatch ’twixt
the unknown kitchen of the gods and goddesses
and this humble dining room called earth
O hommous, with the knowing grace and skill
of an eager, patient, well-versed lover
you encircle me with savoury kisses
O hommous, for whom the gods created
the mortal consorts Marmite and Toast that
you may be praised and celebrated
more boldly. Yes, like some kinky High Court judge,
I entertain your illicit company,
play host to your well-spread ménage à trois:
lubricating at the very sight of you
salivating till the very marrow of my bones
cries out, “No more! No. No! Yes! No. Yes! More!”
Agog, I preside over your consummation
You come inside my mouth; in turn, I swallow
Tis no scandal! I am happy to sing it
out loud from the rooftops and spires
and minarets and supermarket aisles:
O hommous! Thou art the very sperm that
fills and thrills and spills me to overflowing!
O hommous, processed manna to my soul
I wish you were an ocean in which
I could sweetly, slowly, completely drown
“Continue, O chickpea, to boil in tribulation
until neither existence nor self remains to thee”
Rumi
O hommous, processed manna to my soul
I wish you were an ocean into which
I could dive and wherein could sweetly drown
O hommous, you lie beyond solidity
and defy fluidity. You dissolve
the rigidity of hearts and minds and bowels
O hommous, you are the serving hatch ’twixt
the unknown kitchen of the gods and goddesses
and this humble dining room called earth
O hommous, with the knowing grace and skill
of an eager, patient, well-versed lover
you encircle me with savoury kisses
O hommous, for whom the gods created
the mortal consorts Marmite and Toast that
you may be praised and celebrated
more boldly. Yes, like some kinky High Court judge,
I entertain your illicit company,
play host to your well-spread ménage à trois:
lubricating at the very sight of you
salivating till the very marrow of my bones
cries out, “No more! No. No! Yes! No. Yes! More!”
Agog, I preside over your consummation
You come inside my mouth; in turn, I swallow
Tis no scandal! I am happy to sing it
out loud from the rooftops and spires
and minarets and supermarket aisles:
O hommous! Thou art the very sperm that
fills and thrills and spills me to overflowing!
O hommous, processed manna to my soul
I wish you were an ocean in which
I could sweetly, slowly, completely drown
