Your turkey waxes philosophical on my chaise of hard-earned cash.
Your chili powder wants to smoke my throat for our Christmas card.
Your tomatoes see that yes I was hardcore-judging your pen wipe.
Your kidney beans squirm as I plunge you into locust breath.
You onion, you were already swallowed by the bald layers of your imprint--
but I kept savoring because
when it comes to skinny white men like you
I’m a masochist.