Saber a Paradiso

With hair smelling like pomegranates
you come to me,
smiling,
to show me a new story.
I read your words from the screen of your laptop.
They are beautiful.
Enticing
just like you.
I take your hands and kiss them.
Turn them over and plant feather-kisses on your palms.
Watch you shiver
and I smile,
licking my way to your wrists.
“I taste like soap,” you tell me,
crinkling your nose in that cute way you do.
Everything about you is cute to me
the middle-aged poet skirting death with a young amour.
I take a piece of mango and brush it across your wrists
and then feed it to you delicately.
Then a piece of papaya and pineapple
followed by strawberry and honeydew,
each time placing the fruit between your succulent lips
and watching you chew
and swallow.
Then I lower my head once more toward your wrists,
tracing my tongue over the veins
biting down gently
and then sucking the nectar from them.
When I look at you, you are flushed with heat,
your cheeks the color of roses.
“No,” I tell you.
“You taste like Paradise.”

*Taste of Paradise