The speaker is infatuated with a woman who seems out of reach, and the poem turns that longing into food. Her body is "cut stone," hard and polished like a statue, yet also "a feast of disorders," which suggests she is both impressive and a little unsettling, full of complications the speaker can't resist. The title, "Anatomy of melancholy," hints that this desire is tinged with sadness from the start.
The speaker sees himself as "a new cook," inexperienced and eager to impress, but admits he "will be nothing by morning," as if he expects to vanish after one night or simply be forgotten. The last lines are the bleakest: his heart is "a missed supper in her diet," something she skips without noticing. The mood is wry, self-deprecating, and quietly aching. The humor of the kitchen metaphors softens the pain, but the feeling underneath is clear: he wants to matter to her, and fears he doesn't.