Shame and Sacred Appetite

Clearly—
those who shroud their heads
to eat ortolan
have never
supped on peaches

offered plump,
sun-warm,
at the edge of ripeness
that moans
flesh parting
raining its essence
down the chin
without apology

those who dine beneath a napkin veil
do not yet know
what it is to be invited
to slurp a peach

had they tasted one,
and known the ache
of sweetness spilling
because it had to,
they would not
call ortolan
indulgence

they would know
their shame is not
in the feasting

god gave us peaches
and bid us eat
ravenously