Jello beginning. A tangle, a tumble of bodies, and
everyone was hungry, but all I had was jello. Too
lazy to get up, so one brought it and spread it slowly,
luscious and green on my belly, and another ate it
off, tickling, and I giggled until it was gone.
Resting after (or before) another
assault on her salty skin, so pale,
so sweet. Insatiable. Lips gone
parched from too many kisses.
Bodies drenched in languor;
even the thought of food exhausted.
Raspberry chocolate melted in the
ravine between her belly and thighs;
yes, that will be enough to satisfy us.
Three in the bed, months later, how many years ago? And
I, in love with you and not knowing it — all of us, then,
reaching for something. You bought espresso after
months learning the curves of each other (and other). She
made tiramisu. Mascarpone and chocolate, lady fingers —
I licked the cream from hers, or was it you from mine?
Sweet and heady, the liqueur dripping over and under
us, until it was over; we knew even then, to eat dessert first.