Breakfast

You’re the first meal of my day every day
cooked to perfection, poached in experience,
covered with creamy sauce and served up hot.

I dig into you with my eyes and ears and mouth,
savoring every bite of you, nursing chunks of you
sliding down my throat, juices dripping off my chin.

Nutrition never tasted so good.

It takes all day to recover from you
and then I hunger for more,
stumbling around in an undernourished daze.

I starve myself, refusing other food,
fasting from pleasure, denying carnal desires
‘til I can feast on you again.

You’re more than a mouthful, that’s for sure.

Tasting your lips on mine, hips flipping me over,
over and over, easy and hard, simmering, flayed,
flambéd and sautéed,

I realize I’ve become the main course,
that you’ve turned the tables once again
and made me eat my words, with relish.