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Please come in.
I won’t bite,
Simply whet my appetite
With whatever foods you may bring

From the dark winter garden of night.
What’s that smell?
Is it fever?
Spreading deeper? butter-hot, red as
The flame-drips that bred the black
Sin in the hearts of believers.

You’ll find my crown on the head of a creature
And my name on the lips of the dead
I am speaking of dread and hunger
Do you know hunger? precisely.
It needs to be fed.

Please begin. I won’t interrupt.
Drink wine from my cup and eat from my table.
Perhaps you are able
To stomach what once was corrupt.

It has a taste:
Misbehavior.
No saviors here, just fare to be swallowed,
Bones to be hollowed;
For rudeness yields exquisite flavors.

You’ll find my crown on the head of a creature
And my name on the lips of the dead
I am speaking of dread and hunger
Do you know hunger? precisely.
It needs to be fed.

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