Portions of Food for Will

Everything draws a new portrait in me every day
A little curry cruises the appetite.
Seven dices roll up in sight of wafer
The cards of poker find perishables a pun.
Of other worldly attires, never have jibes hit upon
A blaze in dry grass has had across.
To outdo the idioms, the little finger curses
In the aired doubts, the mother’s dishes do justice.
The live letters flitter away in soul-soup
Greeks are the ones not to be mentioned.
© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2018
Image © Still Life with Quince Cabbage Melon and Cucumber by Juan Sanchez de Cotan

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