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Eastern cuisine
For Sheila

By J.P Amos
April 23, 2002
The Iranian

Tickled black,
impossibly trapped,
arraigned in a court of lust
and guilty as c h a r g e d.

Corrupted by the cool delinquent darkness
of your twin obsidian stars.

Utterly lost in my queen of dreams,
not even Hafiz and his muse
could paint you more vividly
than your form torn from reality
and re-defined
in the deliquescent dimensions
of my unsated d e s i r e.

I want the crimson splash and b u r n
of your moist radioactive lips.
Split my soul asunder,
plunder my secret songs.

Wrap my waist in the golden cream
of your screaming thighs.
Extemporize your need for collusion of skin
and demigod t o u c h
in devilish whispers.

Feel the universe splinter and subdivide
in a collision of corporeal relish
as the tingles in your delicious tummy
turn to s h i v e r s.

Jigar-e toe bikhoram,
and for dessert I'll have your heart.

©2002 J.P Amos

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