A Frenchman’s Declaration of Love

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)


french food

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