Jealousy

An ancient wood grew on my tongue.

An ancient wood grew on my tongue:
         dense, bitter, rotting;

Intrepid deeds--arcane, unsung--
         within my throat, clotting.

Cup's quiet thief mine eyes hath wrung,
          valor blithely blotting.

In ancient wood, sweet vengeance hung--
         foul, evil plotting.




Lines: 8
Written for: "PromptMaster !" 
Prompt: The thing that is the least acceptable flavor