Stolen Cheesecake

The thought of watching you eat               La idea de verte comer
- so gross and yet erotic -                           - tan burda y sin embargo erótica -
will not let me fall asleep.                          no me deja conciliar el sueño.

I taste my cheesecake, a feat                  Me comí mi torta, una hazaña
you quickly turned chaotic:                      que tú rápidamente hiciste caótica:
the thought of watching you eat                la idea de verte comer

from my plate is some sick treat.             de mi plato es una delicia enferma.
Empty fork and lips hypnotic                    Tenedor vacío y labios hipnóticos
will not let me fall asleep                          no me dejan conciliar el sueño

on the bed or the love-seat.                      en la cama o el sofá.
It’s become anti-narcotic,                         Se ha convertido en anti-narcótico,
the thought of watching you eat.               la idea de verte comer.

Wrapped lips around tender meat,             Labios envueltos alrededor de carne tierna,
your theft from my plate, exotic,               el robo de mi plato, exótico,
will not let me fall asleep.                         no me dejan conciliar el sueño.

Hungry for food or other treat,                   Hambrienta por comida u otra invitación,
I watch you smiling, idiotic.                      Te veo sonreír, idiota.
The thought of watching you eat               La idea de ver que comes
will not let me fall asleep.                         no me deja conciliar el sueño.

Food For Thought

I started to write a poem, hungry for substance.
I stewed my thoughts, mixed them, cooked them.

So I laid the foundation with a meaty sauce.
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou are not so;

Then I covered those thoughts with starchy rigidity.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

A heaping spoonful of loving cheesiness to top it off:
Merged, you and I, my love, seal the silence
while the sea destroys its continual forms.

Hands moving quickly, anxious,
salivating at the thought of more.

More hearty, seasoned support:
Thou'art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy'or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

Layered over layers, wavy and yeasty:
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!

All covered in cheese, flavorful and exotic:
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes.

Layers upon layers, condensing on paper,
labored over and left to bake for hours
in my brain and soon, the thoughts of
my sweet labor call me back,
hungry for more:

Melted and crunchy crust of love metaphors,
the rigid, starchy rules softened under the heat,
the hearty base thickened, darkened, sweetened.