Witchery sneaks into my home disguised 
In the form of light libellous lemon chicken 

We who are used to the taste of the dark 
Brown, thick, spice stuffed heaviness, sigh 

The paleness of lime zest infused soft jus
Over the peppered glazed thighs, is a novelty 

A potency permeates the air, grudgingly, 
And settles surreptitiously into the serviettes 

Cloth that kissed our lips in satiated dabs
Infiltrating, letting the sorcery find its way inside 

The taste must have tapered out over the years
Or lain forgotten under piles of fresh, exotic pleasures 

Until on a dire, ruinous day, while steeping oneself 
In dregs of deprivation, a gustatory ghost wafts in.