he was like a three-course meal. salty, spicy, and sweet. mostly the sweet. like a shortbread biscuit crumbling into your teeth the river of chocolate trying to catch up to the meat he was the rich velvet sponge cake you couldn’t wait to eat. your tongue curls, salivates at the thought of his neck, mouth, lips he's the last scoop of ice cream you don’t want to miss. but you know when it’s over, you'll be craving for more your stomach still empty and your arms so sore. but he'll reel you in for a midnight snack, his fingers telling you it’s good to be back he's a kit kat from your secret chocolate stash leftover Crème Brule just waiting to crack. then you get to the morning and he's still in your bed, your mind's telling you it’s time to be fed you wade through his hair, soft as silk and wash it down with a glass of milk but once you see his green eyes and his bowl full of lies, you can’t help but feel last nights meal stuck in your throat.
Poems about preconceived realities, those that haunt my thoughts through my eyes centre and my hearts focus.