Cooking up a Storm

 

The pot is warm, brimming with love.
The moon is high shining brightly above.
Our love is a delicious meal,
to be savoured and eaten with zeal.

 

The ingredients too many to list,
a touch of lust to give the odd twist.
Each course adding to the fun,
now that the night has just begun.

 

Our table is laid out for a feast,
four courses at the very least.
The touch of your fingertips on my arm.
I never could resist your charm.

 

Transported by our passion,
a love never going out of fashion.
A meal for two consumed with joy,
emotions not played with like a toy.

 

The table now laid to waste,
tracings of a smile play on your face.
The pot empty but still warm,
after all we did cook up a storm.

 

© 2018 Taylor Crowshaw