Tuesday, 11 February 2014

Suzanne Somers, on Vegan Heaven

The mystery of wheat germ, pale tendrils,
propaganda pulses, a yolk that binds -

this rawness grates. My preference for frills
of steak fat served in dollops, trumps the mind's

high planes, the yoga zone no match for gills
of trout grilled crisp. A buttered loin spellbinds

more perfectly than beauty - not less my own,
a blade to coax the fillet from the bone.

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