You don’t sip the convulsions
Of coconut milk;
You slurp.
This is noisy, earthy homage –
Both hands cupped fervently
Around the wet rims of a ceramic bowl
Breath to heat; tongue to spice…
The mellifluous swirl
Of freshwater prawn
Bathing in the saltwater kiss
Of a curry married
To coconut’s myths.
You don’t clean the residues
Of a meal such as this,
Savoured on the humility
Of coy banana leaves;
You mop.
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