Dinner date.

Where eyes green hazel  
spoke a language of fun
and upper arms did fill my lungs
with deep breath in 
and a slow dispel
that each brought heart swells just as well
And I lingered on palms
to their tips hard earned 
inscribed contours that could arouse and churn, 
Though I really ought tell you 
of Saint Etienne beers
and those girthy biceps and chili tears
of how at the stove 
there for a while
I wanted to step into the crease of his smile
and let my gaze 
slope down in desire
but the pan was smoking and may have caught fire
so I looked away 
and fried the chops
while he watched me cook as he drank his hops.

  

Reviews

[Jimmy Yetts]

A torrid moment smartly portrayed.
(Had some big guns, myself, once.)
High-level poetry, Victoria of Merry Olde.