I shall be
a transcendental culinary artist
the ingredients on my palette
are not paint, for paint is toxic
I nourish my magnum opus
with salts and sugars and meats and yeasts
the fruits of the earth
the nectar of the gods
and spice,
baby,
I’m all about spice
sex up your appetite
with all things nice.

My instruments
sing to the moon at night
as I inundate your eyes with shocking savory sights
the wolves burst loose from captivity
and while my ingredients portray beautifully the nativity
these howling instruments
strum sweetly and bang and clang like drums and hum tunes of imminent doom
my spatulas
my pot-holders
my cheese-graters
and as the stove smolders
I continue with whisks and melon balers
vegetable peelers and forks and spoons
and egg-beaters,
baby,
I’m all about the egg-beaters
makin ya feel sweeter
as I turn on the heater
of the oven,
baby,
I’m all about the oven
make ya feel so hot
blow up your spot
and then leak like the faucet where I wash myself off
so I’m nice and clean
fresh as dough
to present my product
in bakery class
knock the teacher straight off his ass
this ain’t no damn home-ecc
I’m serious like a crane swinging its ball-wreck
thas right I’ll fucking wreck you man
deck you man
if you try to stick and lick your finger in my master plan
I’m gonna be a chef
wear my white chef’s hat
almost as sexy as my white-chef’s-ass
and when you come over
you’re lucky as a 4-leaf clover
just to get a taste of my genius
I’ll have baked you a cake even on such short notice
and you’ll eat it n’ it’ll be so damn good
it’ll be like seven simultaneous orgasms
and you’ll be on the floor for an hour in spasms
and if ya want more
(orgasms, that is)
it’ll come when you feel the wrath of my jizz
I sexed you up with art
and then with food
now gimme something in return
don’t be rude