He calls to me, hot and ready
He calls to me, glistening with oils
He calls to me, begging to be taken
With the flick of my wrist, it begins
With a roll of my tongue, I caress
With a waddle of my chin, my desire
Slipping, sliding, tasting all
Perfect drumsticks, hear my call
Turkey Skin, in your thrall
I pray before the altar
my hands spread, my soul bared
the zenith of my desire nears
Twisted bone and roasted flesh
the bitter conquest of my foe
The spoils of my victory
More and more are brought before me
Each presenting their flavors
My tongue is my flail
My teeth are my sword
Thanksgiving is my battlefield
I am assailed by your sweet voice promising paradise but delivering hell
You tempt me when I am week and then cause me agony when I succumb
I curse you Food court, you vile den of temptation and inequity.
Why can I not stand against your sirens song.
