19 February 2008

Ode to Curry

O fare in which our senses all delight,
Thou beckon'st all to Eastern joys partake;
And, for our part, a none too distant night
Shall see us meet and for thy dwelling make.

Thy pungent odour first doth have its say,
Thy rich aromas of the Orient
Sent far abroad to waft thy willing prey
To dark purveyors of thy luscious scent.

Thy colours all like tapestry display
Unto our sight a feast to cheer our hearts,
E'er yet, as eager gourmets, we convey
Thy stain into our secret, hidden parts.

But O, thy taste, which, bursting on our tongues,
Doth succulently render up in flame
Exquisite, burning pleasure that belongs
Alone to those enraptured by thy name.

Thy texture lips and tongue and throat doth thrill.
With gentle ease thou slippest to thy doom,
Thy willing sacrifice our void to fill;
For liquid joys alone thou leavest room!

But then, alas, thy sound shall haunt next day,
Announcing echoes of thy wondrous smell,
And all our near and dear shall drive away;
Where we have been, the poorest mind can tell...

Fancy a curry?

Copyright © 2003 Desmond Hilary

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