Love is bathing in hot water, seasoned with rosemary and mint.
Love is throwing salt over your shoulders, liberally sprinkling some sugar and spice.
Love is coating your body olive oil.
Love is pre-setting the oven.
Love is being cooked, burned even.
Love is stewing in your juices.
Love is keeping your tenderness.
Love is being raised and fed for this moment.
Love is the flavor blossoming from your bones.
Love is the fragrance announcing to his neighbors, you are ready.
Love is the fork piercing your flesh to confirm.
Love is waiting on cold porcelain until he is also ready.
Love is the meal too large for one man to eat alone.
Love is the hope he doesn’t share.
Love is being pinched between his teeth.
Love is being chewed.
Love is being swallowed.
Love is the pleasure filling his palette.
Love is the wish he’d savor the next bite a little longer.
Love is the dash of salt to make you even better.
Love is the second and third helping.
Love is the dirty dishes and stained shirt.
Love is the sandwich he makes with the leftovers for tomorrow’s lunch.
Love is the nutrients, the nourishment.
Love is the prayer you never reach his rectum.
Love is the foreknowledge that you’d end up on cold porcelain again…and marinating anyways.
No comments:
Post a Comment