A pan – another attempt at poetry
Think of youself – as a pan of water,
And me as the fire – of the stove underneath.
Softly I lick you – slowly, you feel
Little ripples of heat – scampering through you.
The window wide open – and cold morning air
Wafts gently across you – in icy contrasts.
The heat growing stronger – rising up through you,
You roll like an ocean – in long slow convulsions.
Bubbles now swarming – through you and up you
Stinging and bursting – on your surface in gasps.
The bubbles now grow – in size and in number,
You pop and you fizzle – and writhe and spit steam
You rise up again – you have no control
And you spill and you burst – out of the pan
In long, thick cascades – screaming my name,
You fizz and you gurgle – and froth down the sides.
We lie there quite still – just trembling slightly,
I am extinguished – and you are quite empty.
Somebody calls – from a kitchen somewhere,
“Mum has forgotten – to turn the stove off again!”
This entry was posted on 12.01.24 by Kyle. It was filed under erotica, flash fiction, love, musings, poetry, sex, writing and was tagged with Art, Cookware and bakeware, erotica, Heat, metaphor, Olive oil, Poetry, sex, Thermal Process.