A meal fit for a Queen

I open the door, delve in deep with my head

In search of inspiration, for two slices bread

My hunger is huge, I’ve a vast rumbling hole

A ravenous emptiness, an insatiable soul

Multiple flavours, to contrast, not compete

From the contents I find, it’s a difficult feat

I need something smooth, so I go for sweet chilli

With a generous spoonful, of fresh piccalilli

A layer of cheese, something French and quite smelly

Mixed with several strands, of last night’s tagliatelle

Chopped coriander, with diced gherkins to boot

Now all that is missing, is a semblance of fruit

I thinly slice strawberries, with several black grapes

Three lettuce leaves ensuring, that nothing escapes

A beauty to behold, a meal fit for a Queen

The act of consumption, best described as obscene

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