Frosting

 

She leans over her half-frosted cake, the shadow of her elbow enormous on the wall, her beauty explicit only at certain angles. 

 

Her nose is wrong. Her mouth is wrong. Her eyes are wrong. 

 

She lifts the silver milk and drinks. And I see it; she is beautiful.  If I gaze at her too long she climbs into my eyes and makes everything beautiful.

 

I decide to devour her, right there on the kitchen floor. Hunger always feels like the prelude to shame but I’m moving too fast now for traffic signs.  She seems to know this road. 

 

I whisper until no speaking is left in me.

 

I’m inside her mouth, behind her tongue. She tastes like chocolate milk. 

 

In sex, the mind dissolves leaving the body, only the body and its little satin parts. And sometimes, licks of frosting on fingertips.

Reviews

[MAC]

Eric!!!!! You're back!! Wow, I thought I was good at vanishing ~L~ How are you doing my one and only fan ~L~

This poem is perfect. The erotic sweet-tooth teaser ~L~

Take care.

[wolfshrew]

if i read this again it will get stuck in my head

[An Ordinary Woman]

Ericccccccccccccc your writing grows and grows until it's stuck in my head. This one is wonderfulllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll and somewhere close, very close to thoughts I had last night. But on a different level, of course. I love this!!!!