to be eat to be eaten

i’m a lean, spirited cut of meat, hurled
and i land on your chest and i smell weird
slightly darker in colour, i should be alright to cook
i slide down your chest and drop onto your lap, sat
you sit at your hob and fry me
burn me fry me make me darker
season me, i want to taste good for you
but i can’t season myself because
1. who does that?
and 2.
i am but meat, barely sentient
vacuous metaphor, i wanna be good for you
i wanna taste so good that i surprise even myself


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