Food of love

I stare at him from inside the kitchen window.
Such a pretty thing.
Like a strong stemmed rose presenting its lush red
petals so lastingly in the rich brown earth.
His skin, like honey.
Sweet with sweat as he wipes it from his forehead with his hand so purely.
His muscular structure.
Firm like bananas in their skins, flexing and re-flexing to every movement he makes with the gleaming pitch fork, clutched in his palms, turning me on as he feeds it into the soil of life and love so manly.
I go to the side bench to prepare the vegetables.
I take hold a raw carrot.
And stare out of the window at him.
My love is now raw and burning inside me like the heat in which he is sweating in the garden.
A snake is coiled within me, leaping alive with joy of the feel of the carrot I am holding deliberately.
A second heart throbs between my legs so pulsingly as I hear myself moan for him to hold me, to touch me, to feel me, forever.
I squeeze a lemon into a glass.
Like zest from his body entering my glass of desire.
The snake is more alive now!
The heat is on my side to my wildest luck as he takes off his white shirt and thrusts it into the grass of the womb….Nature!
His chest and torso, soft but firm like a peach.
He is juicy.
In need of someone to suck him dry, me!
I grab two brown potatoes from the sack on the floor.
They are firm but subtle like my breasts, yearning to be heated with passion from the hands of hotness, steaming kisses onto them until they are cooked by the scolding touch of love.
The fish is floppy now, but when the heat is turned on, it will rise and grow firm with a taste of salt added to it so savouringly.
He takes a drink of cloudy lemonade from my crystal glass.
A drop slithers down his defined throat like a python.
Silent but gleaming in bitterness, taking little sensual bites as it travels down slowly the path of lust.
A timer sounds.
The bun in the oven is made and I take it out to observe it.
Brown like toffee.
Sweet like sugar.
Like him.
I go back to the carrot.
It is hard still as I slice it into thin circles with a silver knife.
I put them into a pan of hot water waiting to be chosen for flavour.
I sprinkle salt that roots deep into the carrots, maturing them instantly.
I place the pan onto the lit hob.
The flame, enclosing its bright orange fingers around the strong, oval structure, marking its scented heat onto the metal, like sweet perfume sprayed onto skin with cause.
I check the fish.
It is beginning to rise and this pleases me.
It is beginning to crisp.
A milked coffee brown, like his skin.
The sky is blue.
I am not.
I am on fire.
Red.
Burning with passion, roaring inside me like a tiger hunting for its prey, stalking it, observing it closingly for its meat to tear open with desire.
The snake makes another quick turn within me.
He arches his back for a long stretch in the sun.
Pearls of sweat drips down his body like condensation running down a window pane in the mist of the light.
It turns me on even more.
I need him.
Ooooh!
The peas already in a bubbling pan next to the carrots begin to pop erotically.
Full of energy, quickly releasing it until it can vibrate no more.
The potatoes in their jackets, waiting to be cut open to let out the steam of appetite.
In need to be tasted by the tongue of satisfaction.

Food of love

shuvvy

Joined February 2008

  • Artist
    Notes

Artist's Description

This poem is based on a beggining of a steamy affair between a woman and her sexy gardener, comparing food to how she feels about and what she wants from him.

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