Your lily white skin belies
the cracked visage required for your attainment.
You spread, all to willingly, upon my black heat.
The edges of you curling with unseemly delight.
And while my iron heart holds many things above you,
only you arrive unfertilized, virginal to my frame.
The core of you quivering, liquid, wet, responsive to my firmness.
Just a cook's tool, am I, but I too have needs.
And once your fragile, white has crisped to brown
and you have flipped for some one else,
do me a favor, take your sunny-side up self and leave,
cast off from my caste iron self.