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Aromas
of sweet victuals…
They stirred me from my rest.
Led me to my abode’s heart
to mull over My Love
dressed in the residue
of passion’s satisfaction…
Working her magick
culinary actions over fire.
Still attired in my scent
and wrinkled tee
draping over a bounty
so selflessly
just shared with me in hours past.
Stealthily approached,
I seize her firmly in my grasp.
Freshly en-hungered;
tasting her nape.
Making her gasp.
Her eyelids clasp.
Head tilting in surrender –
mahogany flesh
hot as embers to my touches.
What a wonderful burn
for which to yearn,
yet she shivers in my clutches.
Her divine arching spine
like libations freely offered –
meal and wine upon the alter
of my mind –
she fills my coffers.
I exalt her.
Hoist her up.
Whisk her away
to our chambers.
Smoke alarm
soon sounding danger
as sustenance burns
like our lusts.
- HymnAgen
