by Glen Martin Fitch
I stroke the glossy spreads
of dimpled skin.
The flesh so ripe
I want to sniff and bite.
Compulsion, passion, curse,
addiction, sin!
I drool at kneaded mounds
of hot delight.
The money, time,
to feed this appetite!
I seek detailed techniques,
exotic schools.
To whet, prolong, and savor
I recite the age-old rites
and catalogue my tools.
I live a proxy life.
Like other fools
I file my clippings,
downloads from the net,
trade stained and
greasy books
with secret rules of
what and when and how.
I stare and sweat.
This seems the only way
I can appease
my urge to cook.
I lust for recipes.
- Share this Poem:
ABOUT THE POET ~
Glen Fitch is a 16th Century poet lost in the 21st Century. Born near Niagara Falls, educated in the Catskills, thirty years on the Monterey Bay he now lives in Palm Springs. Retail not academics has paid the bills. Someday he will finish Spenser's "The Fairie Queene."
Last updated August 23, 2011