Love isn't hungry

Love isn’t hungry, he’s eaten.
He comes to the table to watch
His guests load their plates and their faces
With dainties he cannot touch.

The first bites are always the sweetest
And appetite grows with each course;
Intoxication is spice for the banquet,
The debt you incur is the sauce.

He is a considerate host, who
Ensures that your glasses are full,
Notwithstanding your hunger is sated
And your conversation is dull.

He leaves you to clear your own table,
He exacts a sobering price -
The wine has turned sour for breakfast,
Your pastries are crumbs for the mice.

Your chair is carved from his bones;
that is
His skull you are resting your feet on.
The oysters you sipped were his eyes;
Love isn’t hungry, he’s eaten.