There are tales of consuming. I know not whether you would call them love. Mother perhaps thought it love as she devoured them.

[Isn't that the poetic way to put it when you've taken all from a person, taken it within yourself, devoured perhaps even their heart (just not that way, not the loving way but with teeth and fingers, not even bothering with the plate.)]

Would you be willing to share in the spirit of the season?