"eat your epicurean"

in my
so called naivete
I
withheld nothing
from you
believing that you would not steal
what was given freely

I cooked.
and seared.
and chopped.
and simmered.
and basted
tenderly,
with the best
wines---

I lost
my lover
a latent
rapist
who liked tender things
rare and chilled
even a head held high.

I no longer cook your meals
although I am seared with the scent
of your sex

a love
inverted;
it went down well,
but ended angry;
a spiteful
spicy
after taste
that leaves my mouth
bitter and sore with words