Sometimes a woman
Is like the sweetest white sugar
Caramelizing in burning kisses
Occasionally, she is the white pepper
Spicing up with a sprinkle
And at times – like after a long shower
She smells like a quill of cinnamon – wild and free
And beyond nightfall, she is a flavorsome condiment
Saucy from head to toe, in her baby doll
And when she takes it off, in rising hem
She is tangy like a lemon, waiting to be squeezed
Of her flavor; but to a wretched heart like me
She is the table salt – the preservative
That preserves your bond to ever-last
When an eternity can be seen
Scattering in a pinch – inside twin maple eyes
When all you can do is (by compulsion)
Clasp her moist lips and spoon her tongue
Until her apron comes off
And a hearty banquet is served
On the kitchen counter
When she rises like dough and wails like a kettle
Till she gently whispers “Thank you”
To your ear and kneels down (still smiling)
To be Nigella.


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