Early in the morning he meets her,
the same room, # 267, once a month.
For weeks they ferment, waiting
to savor the hardy flavor of each other;
they lap each other up with ferocious appetites
on a bed of hardwood and thick, clawed feet.
Mid afternoon with her skin poured
like silky milk over the bed sheets,
he leaves her to go pick up Chinese take-out.
He returns to find her partially dressed
sitting up on her knees in their borrowed bed,
the essence of them savored in her mouth.
She fears he may have had his fill of her.
But he opens the button that holds her
together letting silk fall like warm caramel.
They devour what he brought back
only to fill the void.
Ravenous, they leave nothing unclaimed.
They cling to the abundance
and gorge themselves with the
opulent taste that lay steaming.
They viciously settle the starvation
that simmered for weeks;
they lick their platters clean.
At 7:00 the trash can swells
from empty food containers.
Satisfied, he dresses her,
fitting her tender breasts
back into the satin bra.
He presses his lips over each one holding it
like a precious droplet of ripe honey.
He lifts her under garments up over her hips
smoothing them with his hands.
Her blouse, he drips over ivory shoulders
and seals each button closed with a kiss.
Wearing the delicious scent of her,
he heads home to his wife.