Kite Dreams

BACON

I say jeez, and let my teeth
Break the extra crispy bacon.
How heaven is it, the blend
Of pig flesh and fat, on a frying pan.
Perhaps I should have said, sweet Jesus,
How taste is an epiphany,
Like love or lust, a sudden realization
That something is turning gold.
How genius, for man to invent bacon,
Thin slices, that give you a
Slice of life. How breaking a fast,
Is beautiful, just like a day
Or two going without making love.

It builds up anticipation and yearning
For a brittle body and when
You plunge at the deep end,
You are your own salvation,
Taste, dancing on receptors,
White fat gripping my tongue,
As I silently praise God, “Thank you for sending me
My messiah, a piece of bacon”,
That liberates, an equivalent
To lust, hunger or appetite. The sounds
Of a tummy that appeases, to a windfall of taste,
What is brief as an orgasm,
And still lasts until you brush your teeth.

Bacon, how I keep on finding
The Elysian fields, where in
The brevity of fat on tongue,
Is a beautiful emulsion, how I break a body,
Like at mass, the tongue, as pink as a pig,
Doing what pigs are best at,
Proving that the insatiable,
Has no relevance to the clock.
Bacon, and breakfast, how fat leaks
From a bacon strip, fountains of flavor,
The crispiness of well-done bacon,
Breaking my fast.

How taste is a pig, a big fat one, the treats,
We explore, to contract a feeling, that is,
Better than a mouse’s magic.
How sometimes, taste rises above
Love, the aftermath of a slice
Of bacon, like the afterglow,
leaving an aftertaste, with
A tinge of post-coital tristesse.
The bacon blues, when you’re
Saddened that Hog Heaven,
Is now a yesteryear. How absolutely beautiful
That the best thing, your tongue
Has ever tasted, transcends
Most things in pink, even
A cat’s hiccup-prone tongue.

One Reply to “A Bacon Man”

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