The Cook’s Seduction
I could do a
standard flirt
looking long into
your eyes
brushing your hand
shoulder thigh
accidentally with
a little wanton
gasp and flicker
of heat
each fingertip an
invitation
to cozy up closer
mingle
our breaths and
touch
everywhere I could
flick
my hair send notes
of spice
a fragrant tune of
pure
desire I could
flash skin
so your eyes had
no other place
to look but
I don’t.
I take out the
salt fish I brought here.
I grind it into
soft paste,
add potato
a fresh egg
green herbs and
onion as sharp as
homesickness.
You’ll lick your
salt-kissed fingers
clean, try to thank
me
but words snarl
and tangle like fishing line
half here half
home
memories dissolving
on your tongue
you’ll open your
arms
wide as the ocean
and
I’ll dock there,
my love,
in the harbor of ink
waves.
© Catherine Bateson, July 2012
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