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.
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