On Preparing a Fruit Salad
Tue, 08 Dec 2015
It’s moments like these, I ache
to live my wildest fantasies; catch
a hint of ivory-musk drifting in the fickleness
of a dally-day dusk;
long to pile upon your pillow,
pale as star-shine on a mountain stream,
peach-cheeked Papaya, spilling glistening seeds...
ice-cold demi-moons – slivers of Cantaloupe –
juice, drizzling down your arms, your chin...
and how, heavens to goodness,
my mouth waters.
Figs – ‘dusky maidens of the East’, I’d proffer;
watch you, painstakingly, pensively, tease them apart,
with those dainty fingers as the petals
of an aquilegia;
fold back that virgin, velvet skin – honeyed flesh
exposed like the heart of a rose...yielding...
opening to me
revealing their scarlet prize, as you plead,
come sate myself on these shameful, shameless delights
as passions fuse whilst tongues conspire;
a whisper of Angostura bitters...
a tornado of textures, flavours, fandango with my mind...
hues that burn and bleed and bind
and it’s moments like these, taste
and revel in the blush-pink, honeyed-sweet of you...
all over again.