My Dinner
He says so little, while saying so much


He says so little, while saying so much
Cooking dinner, he slyly maneuvers behind me, barely touching my body
He leans into my ear, deviously whispering “Ma," snatching my attention away from my sauce
My attention turns from my pots to his voice, his warm
breath, his…
Words
He sends shivers down my spine
Makes knots in my stomach, and creates quivers in my sugar bowl
With his breathe, with his voice, his brevity
I’m no longer cooking, because we’re cooking
With the fire from his desire
He’s ready for my dinner, and I’m ready for him to dine
He can come get it.
His dinner is ready, and I’m serving
No utensils are needed for the sauce we’ve created