Reclining in wrapping indifferent to its contents,
the tidy row of portobellos lies chilling;
scaly surfaces restricted by saran to fit,
shipped far from forest understory
now gasping for breath through tiny
Carefully pulling free vulgar covering,
breaking bread now with the heart of mycelium
transporting me into underground networks
where leaf mold poises over soil and secrets.
I honor this delicacy, relish the treasure;
and sit enraptured by savory mushroom meat,
digging in with licentious abandon.