The Wholesome Meal

Hello divorced husband, how long has it been?
I read your poetry book, in which you've talked a lot to me.
I get your point that I always misread your mind,
Can I understand you once more, by calling you for a meal?

I know a restaurant that serves menus we both need,
Your luxurious city food, and my small town's traditional cuisine.
We'll exchange our cultures till our throats are full, beyond our capacity,
Till our stomachs bloat, followed by heavy nausea and anxiety.

We'll fumble and choke until the waiter sees,
And he'll serve us the restaurant's gut-cleansing meal.
It's not like our opposite taste buds, which we always criticise,
It's their secret, drug-like recipe which makes us puke and heal.

I know your tolerance to alcohol, so I doubt this one will work,
Your lips will quirk to puke, but your brain won't let you utter a word.
I've practiced this drug in microdoses, so by now, I might be immune,
This drug always fills everyone's bodies with statements of truth.

As I see your throat slowly swell and leak,
You're a man, and I'm sure your adam's apple is weak.
Like always, you'll keep smiling with vomit stuffed in your cheeks,
I'll use my brute force, do you even know the power of a woman's teeth?

I'll rip and bite off your throat, followed by your cheeks,
Consuming your vomit will help me know what you mean.
The restaurant's crowd will laugh at you, and your famous book of poetry,
They'll finally acknowledge me, who cared to know your side of story.

But yes, this time, I won't give up, I'll try to know you even more,
I'll rip your half-left face, consisting of your eyes and nose,
To see if you remember my scent, and the love for me your eyes hold.
I hope my bite is big enough to consume your brain's frontal lobe.

Half of your brain will be consumed by me like scrambled eggs,
To help me decode the language your poetic brain has withheld.
The only part left on your face will be the back of your brain,
I'll eat it in one bite too, to second-handedly feel your pain.

I know you'll be headless, but not dying soon,
You'll live as long as your heartbeats continue.
I'll drive you home safely, to give your brainless corpse a rest,
Your insomnia with reasons undisclosed, will finally come to an end.

You'll be headless, but happy, though you won't react,
As I consume all your pain, as a part of my loving act.
You'll be a liberated soul that isn't trapped anymore,
Not suppressed, just flying, as I'll be gulping you whole.

My dear parted love, I hope this becomes a part of my help,
You stated that a woman like me could never feel modern city life's problems.
So in my attempt to know you more, I've kept you a deal,
I'll recheck all your love for me, by having you as a meal.

I've just written this date plan down in my diary,
Hesitant to send it to you, as I doubt it will get you out of your misery.
If you complain again doubting my love and continue to fight me,
Just read this remedy of mine, so that you never despise me.

- Mohnish