Archive
07/16/09 - (2)
Sliced Tomatoes
This luxuriant mid-July Thursday night, Sitting outside, on the patio of a local restaurant, I can't take my eyes off the scantily dressed woman
Sitting at a table across from me, under two pear trees, Close to the restless street, Speaking in rapid-fire, if whisperous, Spanish,
To her almost nondescript companion with no chin. What have captivated my libidinous gazing Are her aquiline nose, angular face,
Jet black hair, draping down her shoulders and back, That mere suggestion of her small breasts' nipples, Pressing against the tight-fitting exercise top she's wearing
(Which barely covers her chest), And the staggeringly seductive hint of fat Rolling over the waistband of her gray running shorts.
After obsessing, for an hour, upon her tiny, supple physique, Fantasizing that she and I, body to lean body, naked, Are engaged in passionate, primal lovemaking,
I begin to see the sliced tomatoes in my mixed-green salad As blood-engorged vaginas spread open, Inviting me to consume their tender flesh, juices,
Dive into the translucent bowl of life-force, Devour them whole, taste their tart-sweet flavor, Allow my tongue to savor their aphrodisiacal succulence.
By the time I request my check, finish my wine, I realize that the exquisite woman and her chinless mate Have disappeared into the twilight,
Leaving my craving for female flesh yet inflamed, My appetite for red, ripe tomatoes unsated, No matter that my salad bowl is empty.
07/16/09 - (2)
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