At the wake for my ex-lover

What kind of vanity this?
In life you'd never have tasted such richness
your dying wishes spelled out by this feast
you, centre stage, as large red lobster
commanding all eyes to the end
claws at the ready for pincered pinches
reclining among a cornucopia of fine fruit
the Sicilian lemon a last nod to me
a hidden jab about tartness, thick skin –
once you loved my sharp spike of flavour
my zing to offset and enhance your taste –
and below the table, your amanuensis
pretty, loyal, puppyish in their adoration
ready as ever to trot at your heels
now unpeeling, fate cast adrift
every bit as much as me