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A quarter cup of melted butter
Slips quietly into the bowl.
Minuscule amounts speckled my lips
As I scatter in a mouthful of sugar. 

Not the first or last time,
I will create this dish. 
I bring out packages
Of cream cheese, softened.

I whisk thoroughly 
Dashes of white, stains my hands.
I grasp on firmly
Beating the ingredients till completion. 

By the time it fluffed to perfection
The handle was wet and lubricious 
Creating a situation 
That brought back flashes

Of butter milk splashing out before us
Drenched, for what felt like hours.
Still tasting the vanilla extract 
As your hand came away from me.

I mistreat and whip four large eggs
As they frothed for more.
A spout of red dye 
And a flood of emotions rushing in. 

A meaningless tear slips down my cheek
As I place the unbaked delight in the oven. 
After what felt like moments,
I moved the dessert into the fridge.

I bring out the frosting with trembling fingers
Reminding me of a glaze
Spreading and forming anew
Against defenseless skin. 

Oozing along parts
That icing has no business being
A strong desire overtakes me
A feeling of lasciviousness longing.

I complete the cake with the delicious topping
Begging to continue to slather me in the saccharine sauce.
In this moment I needed you,
I must. 
To taste my recipe 
Of red velvet lust.

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