nothing like a food poem

Eating

He ate poetry
                 out of the weird, glorious curve
           of her arm.

Strawberries made him hungry
                              while she starry-eyed
       questioned him, picking

pistachios from his ears,
                               saying, eat. Dear figs
            tumbled shortly from her lips--

her lips that said eat.
                          Dried slices of bacon crinkled
                the corners of his mouth;

smiling sausages revealed
                                 his dimples.
                Eat, he questioned,

drawing tenderized chews
                                from her flesh, remembering
              to say, eat. Remembering

to touch the dates that gathered
                        in her knees, remembering
             to eat the soft, knowing

dishes that they offered
                                  in silent light
              to one another.