Starved for
affection,
you were an
hors d’oeuvre,
that teased my
appetite,
stimulated
my hunger.
You became an
entreé,
my daily
sustenance,
and then a buffet
serving all
I would ever
want.
Now
you are
my dessert.
I savor my every
taste of you.
I close my eyes
and feel you
on my tongue,
considering 
your complexities,
sweet with 
an underlying
bitterness.
Silky smooth,
you try to
slip from the
comers of my
mouth
as I work my
lips 
to keep you
as you are
my satiety.

M. Zane McClellan

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