🔵 By Herbert Warren. Photo by lauragrafie.
Not like children do in the microwave –
those instant – oatmeal – just – add – hot – water packs.
Jungle-gym crushes
innocent and blissfully ignorant;
or two forever-cute penguins
brief, timeless memories.
You never forget the first one you cook
though it never turns out right.
Nothing like teenagers do in toasters and ovens –
those bake – until – brown – lego – my – eggo kisses.
We swear we’re on to something
when awakened to our body;
A new favorite food eaten so often
we forget what enticed us from the start.
Most definitely not like gourmet chefs do in a thousand pans –
minced – sautéed – roasted – broiled – poached – soufflé smooches.
Overly focused on appearance;
you know the type.
Two mannequins bumping into each other:
A formal handshake between strangers;
an hour wait for a filet that’s gone in two bites.
Nah, when I cook a kiss it’s more like grandma does a beef stew –
thick – hot – succulent – loosen – your – tie – unbutton – your – pants soul kisses.
It takes time yet is sure to satisfy.
Imagine the ingredients, fantasizin’g the key,
building anticipation of more.
Seasoned with sweet words,
soft – form caresses,
dashes of passion till you can taste it,
simmering in love,
stirred with our tongues,
cooked until our tender clothes are falling off of our bones
and its memory is an aroma
making your mouth water,
heart flutter,
breath deeper,
pores open and drip,
eyes glow and close,
hands slide down …
down …
down …
And you just can’t get that with a microwave.