I took you out for dinner,
a fine spread over many plates.
A dinner to die for you might say.
I hope you do anyway.
You were of fine stock,
rich in money and sweet as honey
and it's true when they say
that the cream rises to the top.
It's fair to say,
I ate your guts.
On your brains,
I went to lunch.
I dined on your mind,
it was divine.
I drank your blood
like the finest wine.
As a starter I devoured pate,
made from the liver
fattened up over the last few days.
Toast slathered with rendered down fats
over the edges it flowed like liquid glass.
I couldn't stop nibbling.
down my chin the juice was dribbling
like a brook.
Find the recipe in my next cookery book.
I crunched on the soft little bones,
that most people would miss.
The little lobes of your ears,
delicate and sweet,
I kept eating until my stomach was replete.
For mains it was a trio of meats.
Breast, thigh, and cheek.
Cooked to perfection, compliments to the chef.
Made sure you were well respected after your death.
Melted in the mouth, not a scrap was wasted,
and oh, those delicacies were some of the finest I'd tasted.
I have to admit, by now
I was feeling like I'd explode
but wow.
They delighted me
with the dessert trolley.
A sweet cake baked with excellence,
sprinkled with the finest dust of your essence,
Topped with eyeballs for that added theatre,
the squelch as you bite really delivers,
and just like pringles. once you pop
you really can't stop
just like a cherry on top.
Thanks for reading
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