Recipe for Desire

From what I recall,
at first touch, your cheek
was so soft and warm,
and I laughed to myself
when my silly brain compared it
to a pillow of bread dough,
proofing by the stove.
But that’s me, always making
the odd connections,
usually wrong, sometimes poetic,
a few even right…for a while.
And I wondered what
it would be like to hold on
to your soft and warm self
and, more importantly,
what it would like to feel
your touch on my skin,
because you wanted to touch me.
That would be a communication
needing no words but understood
even by a deaf man, a blind man,
a man who compares a woman
to the staff of life aborning.
And that’s what you became,
a staple of my lonely existence
and the leavening of so many
of my dreams. Oh, for a taste!

2 thoughts on “Recipe for Desire

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