Feast of Flesh

Sugar lips. 

Peach bottom.

Abs glistening in sweat that roll like honey biscuits

Champagne tingles - you know where. 

Banana curves and firm, juicy flesh

Hidden beneath the thin skin of a grape.

Skin soft like white dough

And smooth like neufchatel cheese

Grate it with your nails. 

Scratch deep, hard, and savagely.

Taste the moist cake of my body. 

Suck the salt from me 

Drink deep. Swallow.

Crawl up over succulent 

Thick, thick drumsticks

Reach past wishbone hips and 

Pause . . . there, and

Caress the space between the hanging bones.

Make a wish. But push instead of pulling.

Lay me out on your table. 

Grab, scratch, grasp, bite

Away the tablecloth. 

At museums, they tell you not to touch.

There are no such rules in my kitchen.