My Dessert by John Grey

in

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, <jgrey10233@aol.com>                                                                           

Live From The Chocolate Wars by John Grey

in

It is an army at rest.
A brown army camped inside a box.
Its disguise is more clever
for being no disguise.
Its pineapple shape
conceals a pineapple,
its strawberry, a strawberry.
Years ago, its predecessors
declared war on my thin waistline.
Based on that success,
it' s been sending reinforcements ever since.
No longer cheap supermarket brands however.
These latest troops are Swiss and German.
And no need to inarch, to attack my flanks.
They merely tempt from brightly colored camps
The battle is furious but brief.
Unlike all other wars,
the victors are no longer,
the vanquished survives.
Also, the lands of the conquered
are not taken from him.
In fact, they expand a little
with every loss.

by John Grey, Johnston RI, <jgrey10233@aol.com>