For what I ate

I feel bad.

My soul aches,

my heart is sad.

In hindsight I whispered,

“Eat neither now,”

but each one I defiled.

I don’t know how,

but alas I did

break my vow.

One was tender,

not hardly ready,

the other laid firm

like a solemn jetty

to buttress the tempest

and craving that be

in the dark depths

at the bottom of me.

Although young then

I was no stranger to fate

I could have left them alone to wait

for their honey to gather slowly within

to forever be as they had been,

but instead they heckled loudly

for “Original Sin”.

They are gone now,

but no virgins were they!

My vulnerabilities

their vexing inflated

I’m worse for that

which I have wasted.

And yet no better satiation

was felt with others I’ve tasted.

How will I tell

my one True-Blue

who keeps our flower

of love in bloom.

Shall I explain how I saw

splayed open like confections

full with lust for my direction,

two harlots screaming

in torrid syncopation

threatening doom

with my least hesitation.

Worse, they warned –

once my passion was unleashed

they would only accept

something “complete.”

It would not be hailed as “True”

until the final consumption

of not one, but two.

These bewitching dollops

would no longer wait.

They settled together

to enjoy their fate.

I savored them each

completely, and slowly,

my glee was immense, my

behavior unholy.

Yes, these flaws I sadly declare.

We mortals are no match

for Sirens in pairs.

Gods can repeat this rule

due to their station,

“Any goddess can adapt

to fit her vexation”.

So now I suffer

throughout my life

with guilt, misgivings

and marital strife

because I was tempted

away from my sacred oath

by two heavenly crumpets,

— and I ate them.

“Confession of a Serial Eater,’’ by William T. Hall, a New England- and Florida-based painter and writer