Baguettes

A wild garden  
had sprung up in my heart  
ailing infatuations lingered like weeds  
each memory paler  
yet more virulent than the last  
the stale crumbs of failure  
finally nailing the lid on love  
 
And so it was  
perhaps to quench  
my hunger for fulfillment  
I  sought solace  
from sex  
without recourse to a partner  
the act itself  
growing more and more bizarre  
as I struggled to nurture  
the flower of my desire  
 
You will doubtless know  
how a confined animal  
often pleasures itself  
using the bars of its cage  
born from the boredom of captivity  
how the sight of its keeper arriving with food  
can serve to stimulate arousal  
and culminate in a frenzy of rubbing  
 
And like you  
since my childhood  
I have always relished  
the irresistible aroma  
of freshly baking bread  
arriving from Moma's oven  
delighting in the sight  
of a pristine loaf  
its virgin lover  
delivered  
eager  
moist and warm  
 
So mes amis  
my beautiful baguettes  
come cheaper  
than a toy boy whore  
and when I am done  
I can eat them  
and always  
bake more  
 
& I'm not even French.