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LOVE DELIVERED BY THE SLICE



LOVE DELIVERED BY THE SLICE
By Zyskandar A. Jaimot on 07/30/2007
Viewed: 532
Reviews: 4
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LOVE DELIVERED BY THE SLICE


We don't talk anymore
We order pizza
Warming and filling

But no substitute
For flesh-on-flesh sex
Does he have to order both

Onions and anchovies while eating
Right out of the cardboard box
Where did his class go

Or did he ever have any
Besides me to show off
For his leering friends

With their studded anecdotes
Of conquests speaking
As if to impress me

With dated high-school heroics
Of bad knees and lost promise
In dialects devoid of feeling

Sure holding hands is fine
But I am denied even this
When he grabs the cheese

Sticking to the bottom of the box
With both ands and twirls it around
His fingers and sucks it down

While offering advice like
Robert Young on "Father Knows Best"
About my job my mother

Telling his princess what to do
For her yeast infection
I don't listen anymore

Hiding behind toppings
Of my own choosing
All I want is to confront

The world through my eyes
While watching our bodies interact
Effortless tongues of satisfaction

That signify the intimacy of trust
And the important thing is
Flesh comes together

Sometimes like nuclei smashing
Sometimes like cymbals crashing
And sometimes like drops of rain splashing

Before bodies eventually separate
Like imitation olive oil
Lying flatulent and spent

On top of a discarded slice
When the gluttony of desire is filled
To bursting with combinations

Of cheese tomatoes and garlic
Variously sprinkled with spice
That cause our lips to smack

In anticipation of juices
Which cascade down our throats
Down our heaving breasts

Across intertwined legs
Held by sweet exhaustion only to be
Peeled carefully apart like garlic

Layers exposing themselves
As thin tissued cloves
Emerge from a bulb

Its aromatic fragrance and liquid
Gently chopped between thoughts
Of lust and love which unwrap

The double helix of desire
While hands sensually knead
And mold the pliant dough feeling

A soft warmness of life that
Interacts with wine soaked skin
Tingling from hidden memories

Of curling toes that previously
Waved in gentle contentment
Like cats paws rhythmically

Opening and closing
Too murmured words
Of purring promise

Which brought us back at times
In spite of our better judgement
Or because we lacked sobriety

Intoxicated by other moments
When long shoulder blades
Of abandonment should have left us

Under sheets of silk
That I selected especially for us
Which now smell of cognac aged

In earthy oaken barrels
The colour of my blood rich nipples
Shining like dark purple morning-glories

In the mist of morning arousal
Awakening to an imaginary partner
Gorging on my waiting outstretched

Knees and arms and neck
Anticipating execution
By a perfect lover

Whose scent is like flowers
And who has only
A garden variety of allergies

And whose careful hands
That undress me slowly
Can still be playful

And suggestive of the dichotomy
Between ourselves
Like pizza half and half

Of our wishes as we eat and divide
The world's neurosis into two
My own and everyone else's.



© By Zyskandar A. Jaimot On 7/30/2007 2:38:53 PM
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