Can't eat the rich food
without thinking of you.
Your soft skin comes cool
with ice-cream licks.
Down you go sweet,
illicit, via creamy chocolates.
My tongue is tingly aware
of your milk-shake kisses,
honey lips, the peach-juice
of your mouth.
And what is creme brulee
but slow, exquisite spoonfuls
of sugary, custard love.
The fact is I rush the main course
to get to the cheesecake, the tortes,
even push back some of the
hard, tough, filling protein
it takes to get through life
just to leave room for the luxuries.
When I'm with you in restaurants,
I barely eat a thing.
After taking away a barely nibbled meal,
the waiter brings a dessert tray.
He doesn't know you're here already.
by John Grey, Johnston RI, <firstname.lastname@example.org>