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Delicto Flagrante

She likes little treats,
a touch cheeky, piquante;
delicto flagrante,
much too much cream
on the side
and a tarte apéritif,
the entrée
to a main course

One must feast with the eyes

She sighs on an olive,
remnant of groves
alive on the hillsides
sun kissed, aromatic,
a charismatic
interlude
she does love
a little pampering
the dampening of candles
on a table dressed
perhaps
over stressed

She lets a moué
slip past her lips
a little purse
in her lap
feeding morsels,
like parcels
of succulent flesh,
fruits out of season,
airborne, flown to her side
dipped and licked
a stone flicked
in the flames

Just a little fuel
to her appetite
the pine scented fire
delightfully flickering
a clock ticking
rhythmically designed
art déco
head to one side
she'll dine
on desire.

Poetry by Elle