The Ark Of Taste

‘Be my Ark of Taste,’

you said,

‘my ivory silken vessel.

I will lay you on a table,

place rare foods

upon your skin

foraged during

travels in



of the world.

I will eat from you,

start at your feet,

work my way through

the undulating landscape

of you to the


I did as I was told,

undressed and lay

on the crimson damask cloth

you had chosen for the occasion.

‘Close your eyes,’

you said,

‘relax… I may be some time’

from the spaces between my toes you nibbled violet asparagus

nurtured by taciturn monks in muted monastry shadows

from the gentle slopes of my arches you bit at diminutive olives

collected from netted groves on ancient simoom-swept hills

from the shining ridges of my shins you scooped freckled pears

pale-grained nutmegged quarters wrapped in pancetta layers

from the bony mountains of my knees you licked salty anchovies

fresh fried crisp in butter, limoncello lemons squeezed over

from the great plains of my thighs you slived wild salmon slices

caught in peaty waters smoked over aromatic beechwood fires

from the secret centred folds of me you slurped caviar pearls

popping creamy sweet and salty seized from river-gypsy thieves

from the whorl of my belly button you ripped rose-tinted flesh

from spotted skins of figs dressed with honeyed thyme scents

from the hill-tops of my breasts you enveloped ruby cherries

steeped slowly in dry vermouth oozing blood-red juice

from the hollows of my clavicles you sipped amber mead

nectar heady spiced with vanilla cinammon juniper berry

from the slips of my lips you sucked mellifluous syrup

tapped from maples sap-rising in welcome spring-time drips

from the folds of my ears you fished rose furled shrimps

deep from rocky inlets warmed in blushing golden dawns

from the wetlands of my eyes you swallowed briney oysters

raised in back-water creeks sea-weeping salt-trails of tears

and finally sated you settled down beside me and slept


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