(With deepest apologies to Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892 – 1950 “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)” Honestly, go read the poem. I probably should be tarred and feathered for this. Forgive me, I’ve been ill.)
What food my lips have touched, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what victuals have lain
In my belly till morning; but my body
Is full of shudders tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the bowels and listen for reply,
And in my head there stirs a quiet pain
For undigested meals that again
Will return to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in kitchen stands the lonely icebox,
Nor knows what treats have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its doors more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that a chile relleno sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.