coconut bread

i'm eating for comfort. i wish to bury myself in layers of food. bring on the carbs, the fat, the protein. i'm seeking out the foods of someone else's childhood - potato and onion perogies, crisp and golden from the pan. turkey smokeys (organic, with no preservatives, from a local farm), skin popping at the teeth, juices dripping down the chin. shards of crusty loaves doused in hearty vegetable stews. i want foods soothing and spicy. i want foods dark and rich and decadent to the tongue. i want bitter chocolate and coca cola. i want buttery croissants dripping in milk chocolate. i want mexican hot chocolate - sweet and creamy and redolant of cinnamon.

someone feed me. someone set me to the table and bring me course after course. i want to eat till i cannot put another morsel to my lips. i need to be nourished physically - fuck this spiritual asceticism; i revel in gluttony and hedonism. feed me till i'm sated, finally satisfied, finally at peace.