THE URGE TO COOK
With greedy breasts desire stands at the work-top
slurps seed out of tomatoes, watches the swelling
of batter under its damp cloth. Her hand fondles
the sirloin of prime young beef, its searching tongue
is made for hers, enraptured she slides its
meaty balls into the pan. Passion
is a kitchen princess with touchable skin,
downy as dough, fragrant as butter, a defenceless
duck freed of its bones that wants to be naked
as an olive in oil, a peach in its juice.
She wants to be dismembered on the chopping block,
touched by gluttonous fingers and guzzled piping-hot.
To be a fish, swimming in creamy sauce
cradled, known, craved, enjoyed.