the fruit. Of your words
is dripping…

spilling
on me

let us get sticky
and remember ourselves
as children. Playing in food
with our faces
and hands,
bodies covered

your meat. Is tender
prepared just as I desire
select cut,
brought through the fire

your milk. Is fresh
the right temperature and taste
unfiltered
not a drop will I waste

your honey. Is sweet
nectar of paradise
coating me subtly
yet flooding me

Suffice it to say.

for desert, mangoes
sorbet
ala mode
I will pour the syrup. On your cake
with control
making sure to make a mess

I love the bubbles
and the sound. It makes
taste like pudding
putting aside our differences
no room in here fits
so we can try all of them

blood sweat tears
markings
residue
indentations. kisses
that make it feel
even better…

while you drip. Some more
squishy, gooey,
boiling sweat
caramelizing skin
smelling like sex,
I am most flexible. In your ocean
To your taste

the texture of your everything giving me anything. Filling

Feeling,
fresh.

-see

©2015 Cornelious “See” Flowers
@seethepoet