A pan – another attempt at poetry

Think of youself – as a pan of water,
And me as the fire – of the stove underneath.
Softly I lick you – slowly, you feel
Little ripples of heat – scampering through you.

The window wide open – and cold morning air
Wafts gently across you – in icy contrasts.
The heat growing stronger – rising up through you,
You roll like an ocean – in long slow convulsions.

Bubbles now swarming – through you and up you
Stinging and bursting – on your surface in gasps.
The bubbles now grow – in size and in number,
You pop and you fizzle – and writhe and spit steam

You rise up again – you have no control
And you spill and you burst – out of the pan
In long, thick cascades – screaming my name,
You fizz and you gurgle – and froth down the sides.

We lie there quite still – just trembling slightly,
I am extinguished – and you are quite empty.
Somebody calls – from a kitchen somewhere,
“Mum has forgotten – to turn the stove off again!”

12.01.24 | Categories: erotica, flash fiction, love, musings, poetry, sex, writing | Tags: Art, Cookware and bakeware, erotica, Heat, metaphor, Olive oil, Poetry, sex, Thermal Process | 1 Comment