At best, want nothing less.
Buttered upper crust.
Crisp.
Deviled eggs rotated on silver disks.
Endless  

Feathered foie gras à la
Golden, gregarious, gutted.
Hold the flesh.
I want the eggs! Just the eggs.

Kindling is kindred.
Lamentable.
My table insists mincemeat is the
meal of martyrs.
Nearly makes us weep. Only nearly.

Perhaps, nothing is as sweet as it yearns to be.
Quite so, someone says.
Regressive? Silly.
True taste is tectonic.

Ululations arise.
Victorious, vigorous.

What we want is what we want.
Xenoliths of sedimentary desire.
You should be proud to worry, and think of all simply
Zany.

Vasantha Sambamurti is a poet, prose writer, and MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas’ Program in Creative Writing and Translation. Their work can be read in Funicular Magazine, Rigorous, and No Tender Fences: An Anthology of Immigrant and First Generation American Poets, among others.