Like the fully-seasoned loin

left on the kitchen counter

next to the toaster/oven,

you whet my appetite.

I want you marinated

in a sauce piquante,

basted by my kisses,

simmered for an hour

until you’re moist and tender.

I want to age with you

like fine gruyère,

to sample the best vintages

from your red red lips.

I’m ready to devour you,

to drink a case of you

and still stay on my feet.

And then, bien sûr,

petit café et digestif.

(originally published in Everyday Poets)