deepundergroundpoetry.com
Raw
I like it raw
high gloss overrun
with her saliva.
There’ll be nothing
lingering between us
except for a film of her lush
viscous
Gewurz-tram-in-er.
I observe
from beneath her flesh
poised
perfectly pointed jaw
mute gasp as she
slips
it
in
her mouth.
Delectable Sashimi slam-mer
tantalising Nori-ng headlock.
Whores d‘oeuvre Carpaccio
cures my bitter-salt vein.
Punching the raw carcass
breaking my bones
healing her butcher
with cleaver blow.
Yearling of my
heartache
pounding
the butcher’s block
Frenching the fore-
skin from my bone.
The feeling I get
when sliced in two
medium rare won’t cut it.
There’s only one way
to serve me
viande crue, that’s
glossy red-blue.
She likes her meat
well-done
I want it
raw
to the bone.
This poem was submitted in the Food comp
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