An Unhappy Concoction

The second draft of my first attempt at a recipe poem. Sample it, if you will.

It's just a smattering
of butterfly wings, steeped
in a cupful of tears.
Stir well, with a few drops
of bitters if you would,
then mix with a twisted
stomach and a squeezing
of the heart.

                 Best served when
least expected; you'll know
it's made right when you feel
that tightness in your chest.