Tempting Pot of Desire

Red lips, the perfect simmer in her hips, A pot of desire seasoned just right, the malt vinegar to my fish and chips. I had Coke at home, I wanted a Sprite. I lifted the lid, stuck one finger in the sizzling gooey layers steaming with sticky sin, but what to my chagrin, The absent aftertaste had no meaning. I searched for fullness, but not satisfied and still feel a rumble deep down below, I need to eat with my heart—not my eyes, but temptation’s a sly cook, apropos. His recipe for lust grew from the root; you know, it’s in our blood to eat the fruit