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.