Potage Passion

Just a bit of black pepper As your breath brushes against my neck, Dangerously close. Don’t forget the heavy cream You whisper gently in my ear. My knees slightly shaking as I stir You passionately intertwine the broth As I whip the contents savagely. You place a handful of rosemary in my opened palm Reminding me of filthy nights. The thoughts flooded in Sick and twisted as I whisk. Bodies lie against each other The tub filling up with milky warm liquids Rosemary sprinkled your chest Soft as the unsalted butter that you placed in the soup. Bringing me back into reality, I chop up the carrots As your parsnips brush up against me I shudder and add two tablespoons of olive oil Reminding me of sleepless nights Oils running down us The fresh smell of lavender as I enter- Tain the idea of white wine. You used to love cocktails Late at night. I never entertained the idea of dry liquor However, whatever I must taste, I will, For you. We were close to finishing As you split open leeks Reminding me of our tongues Tangled together like dashes of garlic and onion. You place the toppings Light crunchy croutons, A pinch of Himalayan salt. I weep slightly. Reminding me of pinched parts in tight places Or so, it used to be. You’ve had your bowls of higher qualities Coming back now, to me Due to inconsistencies Yet I awaited your return With enthusiasm To taste, once again, your so called Potage Passion.