Manisha drips it down her pointed chin, careless
as she laughs at my plight. Unable to pick up the phone with
nails and palms dripping with sweet juices. I let it
go — he will doubtless call again — let him wonder, and
oh! I would like to lick her clean.
Rain patters against the bamboo walls, and
I raise my head, hear its thrumming, then bend again,
creating patterns of rice grains along her thighs;
every one to be nibbled with my little mouse teeth.
Can you taste the oil on your lips?
‘Hot’ doesn’t begin to describe it;
it will engulf you, this flame. Her spicy
lips beneath yours, her legs over your shoulders…
Inside her you discover island secrets, enigmas,
excesses — and you dive down, endlessly
searching for the flaming pearl in the cool blue ocean.
Friends should share their meals —
each mouthful shared between two mouths —
and if I discover in the curve of her breast
sweetly delectable skin, so savory… please,
taste the other breast, and say how they compare…
March 18, 1999