Query any poem you want.

In the silent stretch of space,  

where whispers weave through galaxies,  

a table is set—  

ghostly silverware glistening,  

eternal bread unraveled like forgotten dreams.  

The wine flows thick as stardust,  

amber and muted shadows swirling;  

each sip evokes haunted melodies—  

echoes of laughter from long lost feasts,  

an orchestra of memories playing soft in the void.  

Here lie remnants of flavors unbound:   

morsels once savored amid warmth and joy,   

now spectral flecks drifting between constellations—    

the sweet bite of joy reduced to absence,   

savor fading into silence.  

Food that danced across tongues now hovers beyond reach—   

smoky whispers that linger in the air’s stillness;    

and we are but echoes ourselves,—    

blendings of vapor and dust orbiting time’s scale.    

Banished recipes etched upon celestial bodies,   

lost to eras where taste was real:    

meals shared amidst fragrant blooms were feasts for heartbeats —     

declared alive beneath sunlit skies.

Yet here—in this darkened expanse—

even ghosts crave sustenance anew;      

they hum their ancient lullabies in cadence with stars —      

melodies entwined like vines over an enchanted arbor.

Oh cosmic night! Do you remember?    

When every bite held promise?     

When drink flowed freely under meteor showers?       

What hunger knows only loss?

In twilight's embrace lies our elegy —     

for food tasted once but never ingested again;        

for drinks poured into glasses that no longer exist,

for symphonies drifted away on solar winds –         

forever haunting yet forever comforting.

And so we cherish these gossamer threads:

tasting shadows carried by comets' tails—

our elegy woven among burnt offerings to the cosmos—

reminders suspended between lightyears,

capturing what it means 'to savor.'