MANFEAST
My
husband cooked supper for me last night
distilling
the essence of the feast upon his skin.
By
salt and smoke from frying pan and fire
he
whet my appetite for subtly textured fleshy flavours
and
the aromatic pleasures suggested by the headiness
of
brainy wines uncorked and drunk in bed.
I
tasted with my mouth upon his neck
a
feast fulfilled and others promised.
Skin
turmeric smooth and hairless
with
chilli lips to burn my cheek.
Skin
cinnamon brown and powder dry
dusted
with a sugar tempting to my taste.
Skin
like velvet, juicy, dark as prunes and raisins
to
press and burst against my tongue.
A
rough and crusty maleness
textured
like good bread to chew
and
for dessert, transparent, white, and delicate,
yet
strong and slightly sour
so
I must lick and swallow while the juices run
in
anticipation of pleasures still to come.
My
pale-skin English husband has made for me
a
gourmet meal of many different men.
What
a feast I now desire.
Copyright Ruth
Hartley
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