Breakfast with a God

I can’t help but admire your locks of hair,
that are played with by the morning light.

The sunshine kitchen greets us with a grin,
as I say ‘hello’ with my strawberry lips,
upon the pads of your fingertips.

My senses are as raw as a bare egg;
In a collage, your mouth and hands touch my leg.

You make me fly, you make me take flight,
as you fill up the doorway.
Do not tell me we were only two ships.

Do not tell me that you were never there;
I believe otherwise, my dear.

Your youthful and knobby knees are my food.
In your muscle is where I want to lay.
Let the chips fall where they may.

You have inverted me like a soft pancake,
and I have nursed your morning wood.

Morning birds are what I hear,
as you sing to me your six o’clock sigh.
Skeptics say you never were; you’re here, I can’t deny.

You exist. I knew it. And at your knee, I pray.
Fantasy came to fruition. It was an Eden.

Your blonde hair sweeps me away each time.
You grin and praise my mouth –
Your apple is the fruit that I taste.

I wouldn’t believe it if you were a mime;
I know love when it falls south.

My sugar that you dipped your tongue into,
the best of it lied below my waist.
Dreams evolve with hope and time.

Quite besotted am I; I shall remove your shoe.
Do not go. Your love sticks like paste.