Scalded Tongue

The hot pot
boiling over
makes me scream
at night
sweet songs
that I don't want in my life.

Whether it's still,
simmering or boiling
it scorches me still.

The broth, salty and sour,
needs some sugar and body.
The pantry is neglected and 
full of foraged trinkets.
An homage to minimalist tastes.

I want it all
sweet, sour, spicy, umami.
But for now my tongue can only
feel the faces
within manufactured packages.

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