Sexual Soup

A man so sick that the sexual soup cannot save him - the chicken soup of sex which cures everything: tossed mane of noodles, bits of pale white meat. the globules of yellow fat like love... But he is a man so sick no soup can save him. His throat has healed into a scar. Rage fills his guts. He wants to diet on dust. I offered to feed him (spoon by spoon) myself. I offered my belly as a bowl. I offered my hands as spoons, my knees as tongs, my breasts as the chafing dish to keep us warm I offered my navel as a brandy snifter. "My tongue is gone," he said, "I have no teeth. My mouth is with my mother in the grave. I've offered up my hunger to the air, my nostrils to the wind, my sex to death, my eyes to nothingness & dust." "What do you lust for then?" I asked. "I lust for nothing."