he fancied me
like a red plum
cream souffle
pouring hot milk
& vanilla into my yolk
he stirred me
rapidly on bowl
to sugary drumbeats,
i parted my lips into
a believer, sieving
edges until my skin
melted butter & salt
i rose
warm golden,
to soft peaks,
dusted icing ready
for the precipice,
soulful bite
but all I heard
were crickets
drowning the moon's song,
as his palette knife
climbed my neck
framed in velvet ribbon
Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Inspired by William Carlos Williams work
and Get Listed - Of Catnips and moons
Picture credit: here
