! ! ! The Banquet (Sonnet 89) Poem by Lorenzo Costigliolo

I tasted just a morsel of your feast
when tongue and fingers launched their fierce attack
upon your succulent buffet, released
at once between your lips, while on your back.

I savor first the blue-cheese-color eyes,
delight in cherry tips, each melon mound
responding, squirming, moaning, lows and highs
as juices leak here, there and all around.

The entree simmers keeping itself warm
awaiting gentle probe, intruding deep
into the tender loin, in filet form,
mignon or strip, a boneless choice to keep.

This feast of you is on another's plate
thus leaving me to wait another date.