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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.
Copyright ©
Joe Sloppy
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