Lunch

Lunch
Was
Her.

Plated on bone white linen.
No accompanying sauces.

Charred to the perfect black tone
Insides a purplish pink
Juices bubbling and spilling

Giving off the headiest aroma and texture after being thoroughly scrubbed and marinated for an hour in my secret recipe of essential oils and herbs. Deliberately massaged in, no spot left untouched; ensuring that the meat would be relaxed and ready to release its natural flavours copiously when it was time for me to eat.

Lunch
was
Heavenly

A smorgasbord of tastes and textures
On my tongue.

Feet just the right sized cut
To suck and slurp on those toes.
Often overlooked, feet are a real delicacy in some cultures that takes some skill before one can do justice to such a treat.

[Just a side note to advise that feet are the key to unlocking various sensory nerves, enough to make the animal species cry out, even beg].

And she did.
Both.

Lunch
Was

Beautifully formed, thick thighs and legs
Firm to the touch
But giving
When i sank my teeth in

Which I did.
Over and over again.

Lunch
Was

Succulent ribs and belly flap. A generous layer of fat surrounding the meat, mouth tempted to lick and nibble away til appetite (mine) was replete.

Lunch
Was

Perfectly sized (for my hands) natural plump juicy Breasts. And I will admit to moaning at their presentation. Garnished with some dark brown exotic looking berries which squirted sweet juices when squeezed and bitten.

Breasts that demanded one take one's time savouring and  appreciating this culinary deal.

And after that feast
A short break
To drink some water (her)
Thank the chef
Rearrange the plate

And let things settle a bit.
Flirt
Before my favorite part of any meal began.
Dessert ...