i was asked
what i would want
for my last meal
something i had
previously never
pondered

everything i
managed to consider
was lovingly made
by someone long dead

how do you choose
the last respite
to sum up a lifetime
of consumption

i find i only crave
those things i cannot
possibly have
as if i have found
an escape clause
in which i live forever
as no last meal can
ever live up to
the memories entangled

a sour sadness strikes
not in considering
the inevitability of
my impending demise
but in the aching for
those lost to time
the intangibility of
love sprinkled in
the absolution inherit
in childlike wonder
the scents which permeate
all throughout this
labyrinthian mind of mine

a last meal without
those who shaped me
feels like a hollow
engagementofapathy
so thank you but
kindly keep your
dastardlydeathmeal
i already eat each
onehopingitisthelast