Kathie Giorgio




I am warm and waking-drowsy

when you come into our bed

bearing coffee and cheese danish

and baring yourself too.


Our sheets are a tablecloth and you spread

naked before me, an audacious feast.

You know the reality of my appetite

and I’ve memorized the menu.

I sip and swallow and savor. 


Your ribcage, slender and smooth, forms

a platter beneath my fingers and I swoop

across your skin like fine china.


Bowl stomach reminds me of those coin

collectors in the mall where the pennies

race each other in swirls before dropping

down an endless belly button.  My fingers

spiral and you gasp.


My eyes’ caress brings you erect and I raise

your wares to the table to fill my mouth

with course after course.  Tongue the tines,

the bowl, the knife’s serrated edge. 

Your spices are as packed and flavorful as

any salt and pepper. Ready to sprinkle

liberally to my taste.


The coffee is gone and the danish set aside as I

open myself for the main course, for filling myself

overfull, overstuffed.  I am a glutton. More and more

and more. Please.

Your feasty body appeals to my gourmet tastes

in all seasons, all holidays, all days and nights

and all the minutes in between.


Summer’s straddle and sweat.

Fall’s tumble and burn.

Winter’s face to face heated embrace and

Spring’s rebirth with you bursting between my legs.


Oh, you are delicious. 




When you kiss me sated, your lips are as soft as

any linen napkin.  Your tongue is a breath-mint

in my mouth. 


Time for dessert.