- Erotic Poetry
- Primavera
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He told me it means spring in Italian.
The pasta looked like butterflies. He called it farfalle.
I pretended not to understand so he would say it again.
Farfalle.
He said that my knife skills were poor, so he wrapped his arms around me and guided my hands.
I leaned back and he kissed the side of my neck.
I asked if the pasta was done. He said no.
He shook the pan and flipped the vegetables.
Carrots and peppers and bright yellow squash, spinning in the air like fireworks.
Is the pasta done?
Yes, drain it but save some water for the sauce.
He touched my face and his hand smelled of basil.
His lips were pinot grigio.
We sat on the porch and shared our spring.
He asked me how it tasted.
It tasted like he loves me.
- COMMENTS
LargoKittalmost 2 years agoDelicious. My guess, being born with a spout, is that most women will get this more than if you had words eviking the 'wubbly bits'. Nicely done...and a poem that can travel anywhere.
Foolishdancerover 5 years agoI rarely on this erotic site read poetry, but I've read both of yours that you've posted and I have been, in different ways, transported by both. And of course I will now try the recipe. I'm not, nor do I speak Italian, but google says "ti ringrazio tanto", means Thank you very much. As Elvis would say. Be well and write a lot more please.
