Hungry For Love

She buttered his young tongue with kisses,
spreading the smile on his face.
Her lips were a jamboree, strawberry;
she ladled the cream without caution
into his hot scone of mouth.

Later she made him a sponge,
caulking his throat with her spooning,
rippling her lips like a bicep:
his heart turned to gelatine, aspic,
blubbering under her fingers.

She sprinkled him chocolate confetti,
sherried him up to the eyelids;
piping his skin with abandon,
she lashed him with anything handy.
His trifle was hardly considered.

She cooled him for twenty-four hours,
covered him, careful, with cloth.
The sugar stuck sweet to her fingers,
turning him out from the fridge.
He slipped down a treat with madeira.

When he was gone, she was sulky,
rading her larder for love.
Bare on the shelf, she selected
a richer, spectacular flan:
and back went the men on the menu.

From Looks Familiar

Hungry For Love