
Further to an earlier post (here) in which I reported having deleted my contribution to the ever expanding genre of erotic soup poetry (here) I now discover that Chel did not. So here it is …
Soup fetishists, as you probably know, in order to combat the gallons of liquid calories that they consume during gastronomic orgies, prefer poetry that makes them physically ill. I might include this work in my yet to be published anthology ‘Songs of Love and Bulimia (vol III)’.
*
Soup
that I scoop out of the entrails of our love
the little bits of pre-digested passion
that fall like manna from above
and into the tureen. obscene in a fashion
our love that travelled the universe like a comet
with all the colours of a parrot
oh, wait. that’s vomit
and I think I see a bit of carrot
floating around in there
somewhere
with the noodles and oodles of emotion
providing the notion
to express
like milk from the breast
all the best,
to us
with love
Brutus
*
What the heck is that a picture of? 😀 It goes really well with the poem. I love, “Like milk from the breast, all the best!” The whole ending is hilarious. And the noodles and oodles of emotion! 😀 It does turn my stomach a bit, though!
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The Japanese people have this thing about eating sushi from the body of a nude woman. Maybe off a nude man, too. I’m not sure. Eating off a nude male body seems somehow less hygienic.
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Uh, less hygienic times a million! This is a thing?! Who knew? Wow, you learn something new every day. I wouldn’t eat the grapes. That could just be me. 😀
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The Japanese are very precise people, especially when it comes to food. So I’m sure it’s fine. A plate might still be more practical, though
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HA HA HA HA HA HA! Practicality doesn’t seem to be the point!! 😀 But I agree!!
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Like, what if she’s ticklish? Or what if she breaks wind? She IS alive, right? 😀
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She is very much alive, but I think the other two issues would be career ending.
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HA HA HA HA HA! Oh noooo!! 😀
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