Breakfast in Bed: [Edit]

So basically, I’m going through the editing process and trying to get rid of “crutch” words and overused metaphor.

I need more food analogies.


Between silk sheets

and the encompassing heat

of our bodies tangled together,

I will never again know hunger.


I will wake up to sun’s first light

and your morning breath and

not remember what life was like

before I was this content;

when I was starving just to be

wrapped up with you

entwined with you,

together in bed.


With my chest pressed against yours,

with my flesh meshed against yours,

your fingers trailing down my side,

squeezing my hips,

and stroking my thighs,

it amazes me how people prefer reservations

at stuffy restaurants with dark lit alcoves,

rather than the privacy of their bedrooms,

where knives and spoons and forks aren’t required

to eat “formally”.

You are a five-course meal

and I am lapping you up in no hurry.

I savor each taste of your skin under my lips,

like you are fruit and I am experiencing your succulence.


Your tongue traces patterns on my sternum and

you lick at the hollows,

the valleys that form on either side of the bones that form at my collar.

They are as delicate as the rims of margarita glasses and

you are craving their salt.


I slide my hands up and around your neck,

knead my fingers into the goose flesh that has risen to the surface.

Your eyes crinkle at this,
Fingers splayed until they fill the empty space between mine.

You lift a free hand to trace the slope of my nose

and the dip in my cupid’s bow,

until you slide your finger between my lips,

and I suck teasingly.


I wonder why,

as you rise off the mattress, and sink your fingers

into the curves of my hips,

making sure I remain balanced,

people save the term sweetness for candy,

because when your lips meets mine and

our tongues collide,

I have never known a better sugar rush.


And if we miss the smell of crackling bacon,

or freshly poured pancake batter,

I’ll burn incense;

I’ll light candles around the room

and our bed will be the altar.

We will sacrifice our bodies to each other night

after night

into morning

if only to absolve for the fact that we did not

revel in each other,

love one another

as much as we could’ve the night before.


Some girls,

crave for their beaus to bring them

scrambled eggs and bacon, laid out on

porcelain plates on top of

wooden trays with a daisy in a vase,

teetering in the corner.

If they knew what I knew,

how well you feed my appetite,

breakfast in bed would not be satisfying

unless their and their beaus bodies

met each other


after night

into morning

if only to combine.


Between silk sheets

and the encompassing heat

of our bodies tangled together,

I will never again know hunger.


I am hungering for only your touch now,

like a diabetic slowing sinking under.

You drown me in honey

and I succumb to the syrupy undertow.

When I wake,

Rub the sheen of sweat off my skin,

like you are shining an apple between your palms.

Bite through the outside,as your teeth sink into skin,

I am told the outside is the healthiest part.

I watch your profile in the moonlight,

and can’t bear to wake you from dreaming.

But baby, it’s now midnight,

and you are my only craving.


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