Church Lady and a Woman

    I found a good thing, but she makes me so crazy. She is a more than good woman and, "Good God!", she is all woman. She is my woman. She is what I want, what I need, and all I could imagine to ask for.
  Praising God is in her heart. Praises to God are on her lips. Thank You, Jesus is what comes to mind when I see her step into the sunlight after morning service, silhouetted by a bright sun that must have been placed there to showcase the loveliness that is a'll mine. Lord Jesus is all I can utter when I see her toweling her skin as she walks down the hall from the shower. As she sways away from me, I see proof that the shape I lusted for when dressed is even more breathtaking once uncovered.
  Watching her at the Sunday meal is a pleasure.
  For as long as I can remember, food has been my set point and dealbreaker.
  All other things being equal, the better cook will always get my nod. No matter how beautiful, talented, or ambitious. Game. Set. Match. Cooking breaks any tie.
And this woman does it like no other. No one since my grandmother has been able to capture my full attention at mealtime the way this lovely, full-bodied, church-going gal does. She is the love of my life. She is gorgeous and the food is fantastic; but having the woman I love and the food I crave in the same room give me a dilemma I never thought I'd have.
  I love her. I love her cooking. I want her, always. I know that I need to eat. However, the shine on her neck and the loose strands of hair on her face remind me that she did pull me away from something that I never get enough of in order that we make it to service on time.
  She is my more than bread alone. Lord knows I'm famished after sitting through Sunday school and a Sunday service with a long winded guest speaker. The chicken smelled too good to wait. And I almost got caught when I snuck a drumstick from beneath the crisp, linen napkin she used to cover the meat til dinner time. Hope I ain't damage none of my cobbler tasting buds, cause I damn near burned my tongue out my mouth trying to be fast.
  Had bout enough of this waiting. My stomach is grumbling impatiently. But my leg is bouncing so fast it's almost shaking as I think about my woman and the way she cooks outside of the kitchen. I'm breathing fast and starting to sweat. The AC's on 65. Why am I hot? Nose open, taking it all in, and starving. Is it her or her cooking?
  Finally, she's bringing it to me. (Bad choice of words.) Now I'm really conflicted. Should I first sip the sweet tea in the glass she just set before me or do I partake of the syrupy sweetness held in the lips on the face of the gorgeous chocolate woman who made it?
  Before I can decide, the smell of sugar and peaches and warm bread with hints of both cinnamon and nutmeg adds to my confusion as it tickles my nose. Is it the spiced, fruity scent of the birthday perfume that she put on her skin after her bath? Is it the nearly done cobbler in the oven that's making me crazy like this?
  I am beyond hungry. That is for certain. But which hunger do I indulge first? Do I dive into the piping hot peas and the steaming, seasoned rice? Or do I place my lips on those pretty fingers that have peach juice speckled with bits of crisped brown sugar glistening on their tips? Should I go for the plump, juicy, perfectly cooked, crispy brown chicken and the steamy, sticky, melt in my mouth macaroni and cheese that I love? Or do I snatch this sho nuff grown lady, pin her to a wall, and lay my hands and mouth on her full, shapely figure and flavorful womanly delights?
  Lord, I'm so hungry. I am starving. My belly and my body both want what's before me. Jesus, help me! Her cooking smells so good! And she looks so damn delicious.
Which appetite do I satisfy first? How do I, or must I even choose?