Give Me Excess Of It

The taste of a satisfying poem?  I've changed my mind, I want the blue pill please. 

Taste, unless we are suffering from pica, must be a metaphor for the way we sense a poem; the sensation of pleasure or disgust we derive from it.  Satisfaction is an abstract concept which, as poets, we are usually advised to avoid.  Satisfaction assumes that a poem is able to make the reader/listener feel a sense of completeness.  Therefore, the theme's wording suggests we will be discussing poetry which is the literary equivalent of a Christmas dinner.  Am I getting close yet?

So, I'm looking for a poem which delighted me personally, as taste is so subjective, and left me feeling that I didn't need to read another poem; that someone ought to stick a fork in me.

Taste, like the desire for food, is changeable.  There's the sweet/savoury cycle.  There are cravings and emotional eating.  There's the regrettable fast food and the unforgettable romantic dinner.  There's the bit of food you picked up off the floor, quoting the 'ten second rule' and there's the food you eat because you think you should.

Sometimes the food that you think will satisfy you fails to do so.  Sometimes two boiled eggs just aren't enough.  Other times beans on toast hits a spot that you'd forgotten existed.

Rather than trying to pick out a particular poem, however, I'd like to laud the aspect of poetry which I find to be both tasteful and satisfying: sharing.  There is a real, unbridled joy to reading another person's poetry, whether their own or one they've discovered, and discussing its content.  Like the best cuisine, such conversation is constantly reinvented and new combinations of imagery and inquiry present themselves every few minutes.  Aspects of fellow humans' souls are held out in the light like plates full of French patisserie for fellow connoisseurs to nibble. 

Poetry, as with all art, is primarily communication.  As long as we are permitted to express ourselves, there is no end to the combinations of flavour which are possible.  And that, to my mind, is one of the most satisfying activities I have experienced. 

Poetry is sustenance.