the flesh that comes from her pan is juicy meat
her rice is boiled fluffy and buttery light
she's heard the way to a man's heart
but knows there's not much distance
between pork loin and a man's loin

by day she cooks for a toddler and
at night she cooks for her beau
avocados and other mysterious molecules can
with the right alchemy bond bodies together
steam of squash condenses between her breasts
as she double boils the evening dream

skinning her desires she peels away
the day and rolls the flesh in crumbs
she knows the transforming power of herbs so
sagely she sprinkles thyme into culinary dreams
taste buds involuntarily register salty sweet
recalling his savory smile and whetting her appetite

her dream slides to some back burners as
the four-year old comes in with "juice! juice!"
and she notices a hum in her throat
she turns to the icebox and pours a cup for her
boy, or is it a fridge and a sealed plastic bag?
no matter, her times fall away like
peas on a knife, bouncing under foot

she remembers the last time she cooked for him
and he came in with too many long necks
under his belt and passed out in the chair
she knows he's not the most princely man alive
but realizes that the two, together
make a peppered stew that really satisfies

she's not just an empty vessel to be filled
she has dreams of her own to dish out also
in her soul too, she remembers too much cooking
can turn any recipe to a glob of mush
and wanting more from life, turns her fire down
pushes the kettle aside and retreats to bathe

© agoodguy2have 2010-04-19