The Invitation

Invited over half past eight

Important that he not be late.

The sauces line the stencilled walls,

Heads of garlic hang from doors.

Berries, capers, bay leaf bunches,

Exotic smells, spicey, sumptuous.

She sits him down to work him up,

Imbibing potions from a cup.

A wooden spoon, his sage eyes gleam,

From behind the rising steam.

He breaks out in a cheesy grin,

As she rolls her sleeves up to begin.

He watches her as it lands,

Limp and doughy in her hands.

A raising agent is required,

To obtain the size inspired.

She kneads it slowly until firm,

A velvet smooth that one must learn.

A light greasing, a final stretch,

Before placing it upon a bench.

Ripened fruit and thickened cream,

Promise pleasures still to be.

He then leans over close to stare,

In her hands she cups the pair.

She marvels at their smooth, cool roundness,

Her rising passion seeming boundless.

Once separated they work well if,

Whipped and beaten until stiff.

Put aside till later on,

She starts upon her special don.

A little juice is squeezed and dribbled,

Over flesh that glistens, sizzles.

Breast and thigh so plump and pink,

He’s so absorbed he cannot think.

A touch of yogurt she must remember,

Is added to the meat when tender.

Caramel eyes that aim to please,

She offers him the scent of sea.

Lips soon reveal the reddish meat,

Salty juice still steams from heat.

His tongue is tasting, breathing, flicked,

Probing till the last drop licked.

The warming gleaming morsel slides,

Till it mingles with his sighs.

The shells are piled high and neat,

He then sits back, replete, complete.

Dessert will follow, then the port

………..can’t think what else you would have thought!