On days like these-
Grey days, rainy days, these days of blur and honey
Sit down to your porcelain altar of vanilla sweetness
And dip within, spoon then hand, to savor your cream and ice.
Silver within white-
A mixing of emotions, with friction, heat and zen-ness
It’s always best when you can melt it with your patience
Feel the submission through the pads of your finger tips.
Feel the pleasure-
The control, the time, the distance between spoon and tongue
Just let it fall to pieces within the contours of your mouth
Close your eyes and exalt the taste dripping down your throat
Exacerbate the rhythm-
Spoon, bowl, cream, taste, repeat until you cannot take
A single ounce more to sit warm within your soul
Look out that window-stroke your fingers around that bowl
Skin to tongue-
Waste not, want not, leave no crevice left abandoned
No remnant of this beauty left upon even the tip of your thumb
Skin to tongue, taste gently the flavor, intermingled the salt of sweat.
And when nothing is left to be given-taken-swallow.