I hunger

for your soul

forbidden juicy fruit

ginger of laughter

zing of desire

wild zesty

wandering

dancing need

on my tongue

fire within

my breast

oomph

on soft tiptoes

soul rushing

into my being

entangled

forever

My soul tastes like neglect.

Like the rotting fruit resting in the produce drawer of your fridge.

Like the plants, somber and wilted, trying to survive in the dark and unsustainable corners of your house.

Like the months of silent landlines and forgotten “I love yous” we never tell our parents.

Like the untouched bible and hollowed out prayers I think are going to save me...

@anarosewood

I am from the South, I know what "soul" tastes like. It tastes like chicken, like fried chicken covered in sawmill gravy with collards and cornbread.

I have been to Seoul, I know that Seoul tastes like... barbeque, or like barbequed chicken, like Chimaek... fried chicken cooked in beer with a Banchan starter.

I have been young and single, so I know what it is to be willing to cook and eat my shoe's sole. Why not? It might go down easy if cooked in beer at a low heat until tender, like Chimaek. You would not laugh if you had ever been hungry enough.

And I have eaten a soul. I have gnawed her up and gobbled her down. She went down rough, and chewy, unwillingly, like under-cooked squid. The more of her soul I chewed, the larger it became, like tar in my mouth, her soul being thick, and gristly, but I swallowed it up anyways before washing it down with an ice cold beer, as any another man would do. I recall that she sat heavy on my stomach. I recall sitting at the bar a good long while after, hoping the beers would settle the acids in, hoping upon hope that I could drink her down and hold her there... but no. Like any other woman, she would not go quietly. Like any other woman, she left me unsettled. She pitched a fit, and threw herself up in my face. Like any other woman, her heart wanted one thing and her soul another. Like any other woman, she must have the last word, if only to satisfy her inedible soul.

A beauty so exquisite

Peace and purity

Outlined in sparkling bits of light

Filled with the truest form of love and empathy

Finding Spurts of lust and jealousy

Sprinkled with tainted lies

Accompanied by pain so excruciating

Scattered pieces of a heart once whole dies

Layered with strength and courage

Swirled with hope and dreams

Unlimited knowledge

Topped with faith and belief

Does MY SOUL sound good enough to eat?

Written by Michele Del Russi

It's like thick wad of bubble gum that loses its flavor the more you chew it. Twist it around your index finger. Air it out then put it back in your mouth. Keep a piece behind your ear for later. Store some under a desk, then scrape it off when it dries. Use a bit to seal shut an envelope addressed to someone you dislike. Stick some into the hair of the annoying child sitting in front of you on the public bus; snicker behind your hand when his mother discovers the gum and tries to yank it from his hair. Chomp on what's left until its only flavor is the saliva from your own mouth. The soul itself scarcely matters; it's what you do with it. Leave bits behind. Throw it out when you're done. Get a new piece.

“Do you think they feel pain?” quips the wraith casually as it dips its elongated fingertips into the bowl, full to the brim with the quicksilver of a human soul. The wraith sighs contentedly as it brings its dripping fingers to its void of a mouth and pulls the essence of a human being into the gaping blackness as one would inhale a wisp of smoke. The soul makes a piteous moaning sound as it disappears into the depths of the void and then is no more.

“Surely not.” another, even more slender wraith answers in a bored drone with no perceptible hint of sympathy. The slender wraith’s gracile fingers are dripping with silver, and soon the moaning of a consumed soul fills the silence left by the absence of its voice. “That sound they make is caused simply by their passage through the veil and into the world beyond, nothing more.” It intones.

“Fascinating, I never knew that.” The more substantial wraith responds, dipping its fingers and sampling yet again. “This one must have been an old one - they have a more complex flavor than the young ones, but I feel they lack the pungent immediacy of the yearlings.” The table is filled with bowls of silver, a veritable feast for the two wraiths, who have set about to gorge themselves for an epoch or two on the buffet that lay before them.

The slender one offers its bowl to its compatriot. “Try this one - it was a woman who lost her only child - the note of sadness mixed in with the earthy quality of her desperation is intoxicating really.” The more substantial wraith takes the bowl and swirls its silver contents in order to better sense the quality of the spirit contained within. It lets out a contented hum “mmmm what depth” it murmurs dipping its fingers greedily into the the effervescence and consuming the dying soul with gusto.

“Not too much!” The slender wraith protests, “that’s one of my favorites!”

The substantial wraith returns the much lighter bowl to the table and cajoles its companion, “now now, don’t be cross - here, try this one - it’s quite powerful in a sickly-sweet sort of obvious way, but the aftertaste of irony really grows on you. He was an idiot, you see.”

The slender wraith recoils in disgust. “An idiot! Surely you aren’t trying to barter an idiot against my grieving mother!” The substantial wraith laughs - an ominous, throaty sound that would fill any human heart with terror, but that merely irritates his partner. “Of course this was not just ANY idiot. This was a politician.”

@anarosewood (I find this piece works best when one reads the wraiths with a posh British accent).

O, say what does it tasteth of?

A palette so ancient, going way

Back to times of B.C., Je crois.

Come have a treat,

A grand feast!

Enjoy the savory meat.

Served with a dish of les fruits...

With some veggie kebabs, too.

Chunks of assorted made cheese,

Bowls of freshly raosted corn....

Please, feel free to sip of the

Timeless wine from the vineyard.

Come on, sit back—

Also heres a pack of ribs~

hope that sticks right with you.

Please, now-

Let’s not be shy

Dig in, & enjoy!

#So(ul)Tasty!

Though, it depends upon which

part, which section your lips

choose to caress first,

we dare not show the

entirety of ourselves at

once, we are a constantly

contradicting entity

Of the arms that hold

it is a sweeter taste,

one that exudes the

familial love between

blood and bond.

Of the legs it holds

a firmer, stout flavor

humming of the bark

that sheds from the

All-Mother's trees,

it is our love for this

world and beyond.

Of our head is a

sharp taste, akin to

our ability to think

and dream, we must

always be grateful for

our wit.

Though, that is not all

there is to a human soul,

each individual has its own

variation, a promise that

each of us are unique

and worthy of

existence.

A slice of heavenly decadence,

Melting on the tongue

Bursting with flavor,

The taste of copper

Overpowering all

The bitter sweetness

Of past memories settling,

Chased by the acrid burn

Of guilt festering deep within

The sheer ecstasy of countless sins,

Flooding the palate

With such pleasure

A beautiful mixture,

Unmatched by any other dish

The human soul,

What incredible flavor

For such an ugly meal

Souls are like wells, dug, for water;

We pour of ourselves as we drink

Salt with fresh, estuaries, are briney

Brakish beverage; the brew of deceit

Snowmelt in springtime tastes sweet

Crystal creeks cascade, pure, down the mountains

Murky waters, sour, stagnating streams;

Unforgiveness blocks free-flowing fountains

Oceans, blue, bite bitter tongues

Open wounds, sharp salt water stings

But, a soul that tastes of divine;

Morning dew; heaven scent; refreshing