Come Find Me

This post and maybe more to come afterwards will give you an indication of how much is in me.

I will confess. I have shied away from my blog as of late due to my lack of motivation.  Also my intense awareness of knowing the one I wish would read this has shunned my writing. Shunned me.

Food does inspire. But people inspire food. That is why there is no such thing as a recipe for one. At least no good recipes.

But oddly enough when love slips through your fingers so does the spoon. The pots become empty. Hollow vessels and hollow hearts.

Falling in love with the craft is like falling in love with a person. Finding a soulmate. I found it. It found me.

Tonight my heart aches. It aches for my inspiration.  I long to feel complete once again. To sharpen my knives, flick the knobs of my stove on to the highest setting and feel the hot unwavering flame that once ignited my deepest ebbs of my existence!

I want it back. I want it so much I would think the unthinkable. 

But here I am. My heart is shredded. Grated into pieces. Shards of a delicious mystery that I fear I will never taste again.

How I feel.  Right now. I need it back. Come back to me, we can share this recipe together.

With all my love...all my life's energy...I miss you. Come back. Find me. And I promise I will say yes! I will work hard. I will put my best dish forward. I will bare the burns and the cuts. I will stand on my tired feet for 12 hours a day and will never give up.

I love you. You love me. Come find me in the kitchen...where I'll wait all my life for you.

Always,

The Girl Who Likes to Cook
xo

This Girl's Weakness

Speaking purely from the heart today. I need to confess that I have a weakness.

Yes, indeed we all do. But mine is a bit different.

Like most girls, I do love to shop. But not for shoes, purses or new outfits.  I've always found clothes shopping rather daunting and I would much rather shop for those I love, getting gifts and goodies to suit others, not myself.

My shopping weakness?

Groceries.

Nothing pleases me more than preparing for a shopping trek in my local supermarket! It gives me that warm fuzzy feeling that very few acts really give me in life (would rather not mention what those acts are, life is a mystery...right? *wink*).

It's the nature of the beast, tackling the grocery shopping of the week! You never know what you'll find, who you'll run into, and what you'll come home with.  Altogether, it's the thrill of the chase and the conquering the wild animal that is the supermarket:

A lazy afternoon. I sleep in on Saturdays.
I flip the switch on in the kitchen 
Yank the fridge door open.

A gust of cool air reinvigorates me as I scan
Icebox inventory.

Disappointed that I'm missing too much
Too many gaps in my vast array supplies
How can I make anything delicious with this?

As if a light bulb turns on
And my heart becomes light
I bolt of excitement runs through me...

Grocery Shopping!

Oh how my heart skips a beat
My spirit is lifted
I turn around and frantically look for a pen
Paper
Preparing...

My secondary passion is the list
Lines and rows 
A strategy 
You can't go in without a strategy.

Canvas bags in hand
Shopping cart 
List ready...

My list is mastered
Written in the same order as the aisles
Why to waste time?

Skipping toiletries

Fish monger counter
Ruby red tuna
The coral and white zebra strips of salmon

Beady eyed shrimp
With plastic gloves I riffle through
Being picky isn't a bad thing

Butchery and robust slabs of lamb
Minced beef and whole chickens
Sit perched on display...
Hmm which to choose?

Weaving through aisles
A race against the clock
The store begins to flood 
Screaming babies
Stressed out mommies
Clueless daddies

By-pass the junk food aisle
Straight to the dairy - produce is not to far away
Trays of ivory eggs
Musty aroma of cheeses 
Milk, cream, soya milk

Dodging and bobbing passed "The Idlers"
You know the type...
Those standing in the middle of the row
Perplexed expressions
Can of garbanzo beans in one hand
Can of kidney beans in the other

Sunday drivers...

The radiant colours shining under florescent lights

Smelling, touching
Slightly pressing the tops of avocados
Carrots and cucumbers
Lemons and limes

My sight catches rows of peppers and
My heart goes wild again!

Jalepenos, Cubanelles, Serranos
Fresnos and oooh, the Birds Eye
Red AND green!

A pack of each
I'm tripping out!

I round the corner
And the the sharp interjection of the classic
"Beep! Beep!" of the scanner

I check out and I'm thrilled
My kitchen is full
My fridge bulges at the seams

My mind is still on those peppers
Chilli? Veggie or Beef?
Pulled Pork?
Pulled CHICKEN?!

Oh my day in a grocery store
My list complete
My heart still on fire

This girl's got a weakness
And now you know it...

xo,

The Girl Who Likes to Cook

Omelette Connection

When I stand at the edge of my kitchen and scan across the counter, I think of you and you probably doing the same.

I tug the handle of my fridge and pull out a tray of eggs. A mixing bowl on stand by. A wire whisk sways to a stop while resting on my cutting board.

I peek into the sink and notice a few dirty dishes. Thinking to myself, I ought to clean first before I get started.  That's what he would do.

Tidy sink. Side towels are ready. I stoop down and poke my head into the cupboard.  A non-stick frying pan works for me.

I wipe down the counter again. A thought of you once again pops into my head. My eyes watery and my heart smiles then breaks.

Egg shells cracked open. Stacked clumsily like an ivory tower at the edge of the carton.

I prod my whisk into the centre of each yolk. A shower of salt but not black pepper.  Black pepper makes my eggs look dirty.  Wonder if I ever mentioned it.

My pan gets warm and I feel the heat radiate off the surface. Flick a knob of butter in.

I swirl the pan and allow it to melt. I know we are both butter fans. Butter makes it better.

Eggs gently pour into the pan and begin solidify. A drop in temperature and they'll cook slow and steady.

A moment to quickly flip through my food magazines pending on my kitchen table.  I wonder again are you doing the same? Or maybe there's more happening in your frying pan than mine.

With a spatula I nudge my creation and with a gentle flick of my wrist what was once round is now a semicircle.  Half moon.

I lift my meal from pan to plate.

I stare down at it.

I rest my left fist at the edge of the counter and in my right I hold a fork.

My heart thuds fast and slow all at once. I cannot bring myself to enjoy my meal because it's like you robbed my appetite.

But no. That's not it. It's meaningful.  It's my moment that I share with you every chance I get.

Broken heart smiles.

Fork prongs pull a morsel. A bite and a warmth floods me. 

I share my meal with you alone in my kitchen.

Omelette connection.

With love,

A Girl Who Likes to Cook

Fruits of a Summer's Labour

Bare feet. Standing idle
A single ray of sun
Piercing through soft eyelashes.

Christmas coffee mug never retires
Filled with crisp brewed arabica.
Two sugars, and a cloudy swirl
Evaporated milk takes black coffee to caramel.

The morning dew sprays across toes as they glide
Through blades of grass.

creeping closely to the edge of the garden

Cup in one hand
Wicker basket in the other

Eyes investigate
Thick green leaves
Meandering vines

Fruits of a summers labour

Warm palms delve blindly
Feeling lush ripe tomatoes
Pluck and gently drop into a basket.

Feet hit dirt. Stepping deeper into a garden
Reaping what was sowed.

Heavy cucumbers
Curly lettuce reaching up like open hands
Begging to be lifted up and carried away.

Rich violet aubergine drooping
Like purple tear drops. Gleaming sharp sheers
Sever the clown tears from its green wire vine.

Mud pokes through the spaces between toes
The savory smell of chives draws attention
Branding sheers again, fistful at a time. Oniony sweet.

Spearmint scents rolling off finger tips.
A leaf or two popped between tongue and cheek
Refresh. Rejuvenate.

Oreo stalks bumble bees hovering in the marigolds
The cherp of robins on the roof top
Squeezing shoulder blades, stretching arms

A full breath in

Slowly out.

A basket filled to the brim

Fruits of a summers labour...

Xoxo,

A Girl who likes to Cook

Big Eddie

10am, I place my punch card in the machine
The chatter of the printer signed me in.

Racing down the concrete staircase
I blur by Barrington, wearing his
Pill cap hat and cleaning his glasses
On his side towel.

"Morning!" I say,
"Good morning! Just in time, Lawrence isn't in yet!"

I sigh of relief, I grab a jacket and bolt into the change room

A whole change room to myself.  Aren't I lucky?
The perks of being the only female in the kitchen.

The jacket was always too big. I roll the sleeves 6 times.
I push my socked feet into my steal-toed shoes
Pull the laces tight. Wrap my crisp white apron around my hips.
The strings go around twice.

Lawrence refused to order me a jacket that fits,
"Why? Just wear the small one! I'm not ordering a jacket JUST for you..."

Hair in a pony tail, cap on. Big Eddie needs his lunch.

I jog myself back up the concrete staircase.
Lawrence enters, "Good morning Sunshine!" he says.

6 feet and 5 inches tall he stood. Spiky grey hair
His red framed glasses and torn jeans made him look
like he once was apart of a garage band...
And refused to let go of the dream

I popped open the walk-in fridge,
The lock was busted so I chalked the door

I saw my breath as I searched for what
would be become Big Eddie's lunch.

A squeaky black trolley acts like my shopping cart.
Big Eddie will arrive at 1:00pm. Make a move.

A quarter wheel of Parmesan. "Made in Italy" on the white box.
Plump violet figs, poke their heads up out of the
Foam crate like new born sparrows with yellow beaks.

Prosciutto - 3 new legs! Must be an Antipasti bar coming up I thought.
Rapini...Oh asparagus??? No Rapini.

"Anything you need help with?" Barrington asks as he grabs a box
"I'm roasting peppers, want me to save you some?" he offers

Jag also joins the frigid meeting room...
And leaves again with a sack of potatoes.

Ass.

I step out.  A humid kitchen.
A burst of steam from the combi-oven
I walk through the cloud like a super hero
Pot in one hand...
Wooden spoon in the other...

Chicken stock, rolling boil
A heavy pinch of sea salt rains down on
Young rapini

The sweet char of blistered red capsicum
Barrington slices the Prosciutto. Drag and click
The meat slicer struggles under the pressure

With a chisle, I stab lightly into the Parmesan
Flicking savoury chunks from the centre.
A piece of me with Frank the Bread Guy's
Dinner rolls...

Frank delivered the bread every morning
Olive oil skin, dangerous smile. Arms like
Tree trunks and dusty brown hair...
Eyes dark as night

Frank was my secret love...
However it wasn't much of a secret as I
Fumbled like a school girl when he entered

Focus...

Big Eddie and the boys will arrive in no time

I plopped figs into a cold bath of water
Bobbing like buoys in an ocean
Or maybe more like a bird bath

I butterflied chicken breast
Slices of prosciutto, shredded asiago

Lawrence whipped eggs for me
Barrington motored through fresh parsley
His massive boxer fists dump handle fulls into
Lawrence's eggy cheesy mix

Setting it beside me...ready for Eddie.

Vine ripe Roma tomatoes
Discs of rounds lay on a glass plate
Robust olive oil lapping over the edges

Haphazard shards of torn basil leaves
Balsamic reduction I made yesterday drawn over tomatoes
With ruby red skins...like sticky sweet ink

Screaming hot pan
Chicken breasts sear and sizzle
Marinara, home made by me bubbles
Slowly

A beaten hotel pan my chicken
Lined up military fashion
"Shall I assist you?" Asks Lawrence

I smile, "Yes chef...you're swell!" I say in approval

"Swell indeed!" as he rubs his rounded abdomen
I chuckle. He ladled the Sunday gravy
And pushed it into the oven.

I walked over the the espresso machine
A double shot sputtered out
As I sip I pluck the figs out of their bath

Gently I press them dry
"Like velvet babies, they look lovely today.."
I mutter to myself,
"Eddie and the boys will enjoy them,"

A strand of hair feathers across my eyes
With an upward huff I blow it out the way

A door slams.

Big Eddie here...already?
No, little Eddie. Junior.

"How's my favourite Hawaiian?"
A jolly laugh from both sides.  He leans over
A double kiss and a fist bump.

"Fantastic, practising my hula dance for this weekend..."
I reply.

Carmine and the lot waltz in. Round one of the boys.
"Time for me to make magic! Talk to you soon Ed!"

Rolling boil. Stratchetella. Turn down the flame
Don't boil the Stratch!

Rickey, grandson-in-law slices the crusty baguette
Olive in a bowl. Balsamic in a bottle.
"Big Eddie is here, came through the back! What are they having?"

I look up from peeling cool peppers.  A jelly texture between
My hands.  Crushed roasted garlic waits to be tossed
With smokey capsicum and grilled onions.

"Stratch, Caprese - minus the Mozz. Haha!
Saltemboca, grilled pepps and onions,

His eyes widen.

"Rick! Get the wine! Oohh! Larry Larry Lorenzo!"
James - Jimmy calls out.

Tony and Chris throw their jackets on the counter.
I remove it.

A brotherly hug and a hard slap on the back of
Lawrence's chef coat.

"Fresh figs, parm...Romain lettuce with red wine vinegar and olive oil"
I complete.

8 men. Family style.
Platted main.
It's one of the boy's birthday.

Gelato gets scooped.

Empty bowls, plates, and glasses come back
Barrington hopes that they don't ask for seconds
Means a good lunch for us! As he always whispers in my ear.

Then out of the corner of my eye,
There stood a man.
Tinted glasses, with gold frames
Buttoned up t-shirt. Blue with fine white lines
Forming squares across this round body.

Grey slacks and semi-polished black shoes.

Pale white skin, thinning hair and a white-as-snow
Mustache. 

His chubby face glowed.  I rarely saw his eyes.
But I knew they were smiling.

His weathered hands reach for my face.
With his finger and thumb he pinches my cheeks
And pulls me close.

A hug and a double kiss..first the right
Then the left.

"This Girl right here! Oh my...that's my girl! You! You! Everyday! So good you cook!"

I blush and try to pull away. Too shy to say anything else other than,
"Thank you, I love that you love my food,"

He kisses my face again and slips his palm into
My palm.

He squeezes it shut and slowly saunters away.

I unfold my hand and there it was.  A crumpled $100 bill.

And a note...

"Lovely lunch...Thank you - Eddie"

xo,

A Girl who likes to Cook














 

Being Schooled

A bus ticket $2.75 one way.
Next stop King and Jarvis.
 

January was mean
Blistering my cheeks
As she blew icy winds that made me tear up.
 

I walked through the halls.
My boots squeaked on the tiles.
Food Theory 1. 8:30 am.

But Intro from Head Chef first.

8:00am. Main hall.
 

Like the Marshmallow Man
In a huff he walked up to the lectern.

"Good morning!" His voice thundered

A feedback noise echos through the halls.

In cult like fashion the masses of student bodies reply back with "Good morning, Chef!"

"Chefs, what you think you know about what it takes and what it actually takes is very different," he said.

"You will forget the romance of the Food Network the first time you cut off the end of your finger."

"You will wake up before everyone and sleep after everyone. Some of you who have boyfriends and girlfriends may end up single by the end of this program,"

"Forget your social life, forget sleeping in. Don't come to class stoned, high, drunk or hung over. If you do, you're an automatic flunk in my eyes and in my books."

"If you accept this over worked and under paid career path you will move forward as chefs from here on. Do you accept?"

A hard gulp. And once again a unified "Yes Chef," grumbles from the crowd.

"Congratulations, welcome to George Brown College.  You are officially chefs in training! You belong to us now, a group of men and women that have dedicated their lives to those looking for a dining experience only your creative hands can offer!"

And as he scanned the crowd with his tiny brown eyes he paused...cleared his throat and said the words that echo in my mind to this very moment.

"Keep your knives sharp amd your mind sharper. Keep your aprons clean and you jacket pressed. If you assume everything is hot you won't get burned. Messy cutting boards equal messy thoughts.  Prep your own mise en place. And be proud! Never forget to stand by your brigade, your menu and your dish..."

xo,
A Girl Who Likes to Cook

Off to Market

My eyes flicker, a struggle to focus.

The smell of Hugo Boss trails out the door
 
My socks I had kicked off the night before
Rolled up in the sheets, I search and give up
Bare feet on marble tile will do.

Bright sunny morning, no curtains

The windows wide with sunshine

He wore blue every day. Air force Captain

Sharp creases, perfectly aligned golden buttons
The brim of cap shadowed his eyes.

The clink of a spoon in his Illy coffee mug

Blended himself. Yogurt, with peaches. Fruit on the bottom.
Breakfast of a Captain.

Crumbs on the counter, a banana peel

Poking out of the trash can.
Why are there still no curtains?

I wore a green dress, cotton

Deep neckline, wooden hoops in my ears
Equipped with my floppy sunhat
I, A Girl who Likes to Cook goes
Off to Market.

Byward. Next stop, the bus unloads

Tourists, summer camp students, business men
Men in uniform. Fatigues of green, polished boots.

I brush my cheeks, warm.

A smile creeps up on the corner of my lips.

Uniforms...

My wicker shopping bag empty. Waiting to be filled

The heal of my espadrille snags the cobble stone walk way.
I stumble but catch balance.

The honk of a Vespa, as I glare back

A cheeky man behind the wheel smiles.

Rows of stalls, blueberries and raspberries

Summer jewels, $2 a pint
Cherries? Or Cherry tomatoes?
Yellow cherry tomatoes or red?

Both...

$3 a pint, one of each

The toasty smell of baguettes

Almond sweetness of macaroons coconutty & chewy
Chocolate drizzle.

2 Macaroons and an espresso make for a nice break
$8.50, one chiabatta loaf, $3.99.

Fish? He doesn't like fish.

Smoked salmon, maybe? 6 slices
$12.00

Blueberries, now 3/4 of a pint
Lips are violet, finger tips too.
Fresh lemonade to wash it down?

Pass...

My eyes spot verdant greens.

Dill, chives, and rosemary.
One bunch of basil, I double check the leaves
No damaged sprigs, I'll take 2.
$4.50

The jingle of a door bell,

I enter the slightly chilled store
A rickety fan spinning on the ceiling

I sample the dairy delights.

Havarti, Cheddar, Gouda, Fontina.
Second sample of the Havarti please.
I leave with 3 pieces of Buffalo Mozzarella

$17.00

Swerving through stony alley ways

The summer breeze floating across my green dress
My nose and my taste buds take me on a tour

The snap of haricot vert

The pungent aroma of shallots
The salty cured slices of prosciutto
And sopressata. Nuggets of fat melt on my tongue.

A wicker shopping bag bursting at the seams

Sweat on my brow
A floppy white sunhat acts as my fan
As I wave it over my shiny face.

A slow journey back to the flat with no curtains

Espadrilles off, sunhat on the counter
A hungry officer waits

So goes a day

Off to market and back…

Xox,

A Girl Who Likes to Cook

 

Pride: As Recited by Nanny

She had soft silky skin even at age 63
Nails beautifully shaped
Epitome of class and elegance

Once the wife of the aristocrat &
Life partner of a Business man

An ivory white cane in the left hand
Pressing down the cushion of the chair with her right

Her hair whisked neatly as always
In a roll at the base of her head
In her ear lobes rested golden studs

I sat on the floor at her feet.
My degree in an envelope 
Eager to share my success

She smiled but that's it. No words to share
No comments made.
A little bit of confusion mixed with sadness
Especially being the first...in everything
 
She said my name softly
And she followed with a question.

You have a pen and paper?

I dug through my purse and found a
Tattered and crumpled opened bank statement.  The back of the envelope was blank. This should suffice I thought.

A blotchy blue pen to follow, no lid but still worked

She began to recite:

Half carton Colourin' - should be black
Three-quarta pound Demerara sugga
One pound Butta

You gon need half pound each:
Dry Currants
Dry Prunes
Dry Raisins
Dry Figs
Dry Cherries
Mix peel is nice, mus put only Quarta pound

You can use too de cranberries, dry...umm wha you call it? Not peach, de other one...Pammy! Wa you does call...APRICOTS.  Yes you can use this too

You ga soak it from now.  I use a nice nice sweet red wine.  One bottle.  Throw one bottle Rum too.  Those two you need.  Don't worry with brandy an'all. 

2 to 3 months it need to soak.

It's now August, I thought.
A rose coloured coffee mug was now in her hand
On a plate on the edge of the seat beside her, sat the Bran muffin I baked her - sugar free

When I was your age, I had 5 out of de 7 of my children.
You mommy and your uncle used to steal de jar of nut-butta
Run and hide under the bed and eat like Christmas!

Lilian use to catch dem by de ears and put some lix on them.
Cry!

She laughed out loud. Her voice still soft and raspy.

I miss her laugh...I really do

When it reach time to make it, you mus grine the fruits.
Fine fine
Pick the stems and all out first. 

Beat the butta and the sugga. It gotta change colour. Almost white
Den you trow the colourin' (which I soon discovered was black-strap molasses, go figure)
Half dozen or 8 eggs. Beat that too, and put inside.
It gon look watery like.  Don't worry. Once you put the grine fruits, it gon catch-up itself.

Take you flour, baking powda and so-much salt (she showed the measurement with her index finger and thumb)

You need to make sure it has spice first before
Clove, lil nutmeg, cinnamon, and pimento, you can grate the fresh ginger inside
Pimento like dem Jamaican does use for Jerk chicken (aka all-spice mom explained)
Mus trow your flour easy easy. Not all one-time. 

Her instructions coupled with her hand actions
Made for an interesting story-telling moment
Like theatre, her expressions were grand

Appearing beside me was a bowl
Four amber brown orbs sit, the scent of cinnamon & nutmeg
Black chewy jewels of raisins peaked out
A hint of banana - Gulgula and a cup of tea.

Oven gotta be slow.  It gon take 2 hour fa bake
Y'all use electric, Guyana I using the gas.
Flour you pan and allow to cook slow

When it done, pour rum over it.
It will take one whole bottle rum.
And dat is it!

That's it. Okay, that is it then.
My degree sat on the top of a side table
Next to a lamp.

Not sure what to think. Or what to say.
I wrote deligently regardless, as per request.

I was 16 when I marry your grandfather.
Didn't know anything. See him once before on
The engagement day.

He had left me in a big house to run supplies up Essiquebou River then
Come back. I didn't know to cook.
He had gone to Trinidad and use to bring nice things back for me

"West Indian Cookery"...Small red book he bring back one time.
I still got it. It got everything inside.

I had 7 children. I cooked from dat book. All 7 big now, got big children of their own.
13 of y'all.

She fell silent. Then distant. She sighed as if her memories were running away from her and she was running to catch up. As if to put her out of breath.

And then she glaced down at me.
Kind of smiling, and in a way kind of not.

I sat with folded legs, a creased evelop and a pen.

She stood up bracing her balance with her cane
Her coffee mug and saucer in her free hand
Waltzing slowly towards the kitchen.

This Christmas you will make it. And you will tell me, right?

Just try and see, it gon work out.

With all my love,

A Girl Who Likes to Cook
xo

 

Flavour Amiss

Missing you is like...
Hot oven baked apples
At the open of autumn

Without the kiss of cinnamon

Missing you is like...
Standing in front of the ice cream truck
Waiting for my chocolate-vanilla swirl cone

Without the rainbow sprinkles

Missing you is like...
Rich tomato sauce red and robust
Pitching and popping on a stove top

Without the torn slivers of sweet basil

Missing you is like...
A warm loaf of banana bread
Brimming over the edge of a tattered tin

Without the crunchy interjections of toasted walnuts

Missing you is like...
Sunday morning breakfasts
Fluffy flapjacks with golden edges and eggs so yellow

Without a glistening glugs of maple cheer up

Missing you is chicken noodle soup without the crumbled shards of saltine crackers 

Is my mid-night corn flakes without a crystal-like dusting of sugar on top

Is blueberry pie, violet bulbs of Blue, a jam tangy and tart without the 'a la mode'

Or moist crumble of a decadent pound cake without a slathering of homemade strawberry preserves

Like a gently steeped cup of tea
Without the ivory splash of chilled milk

Missing you is like going hungry

No craving for life's tasty wonders
No desire to indulge in this epicurian world

Like flavours have become meaningless 
Flavours without life...

Like flavours are amiss

Xo,

A Girl Who Likes to Cook

...In a Pan

She had an infectious giggle
Charming and outgoing smile
We clicked, a life long friendship
Started here...

A sloppy slice was laid out on a plastic plate
Sandy graham cracker crumbs scattered

Like a hot mess -I thought

Shards of cracked chocolate bars
Jutting out like a jagged mountain peaks
Through those billowing fluffs of Chantilly cream
Vanilla clouds of sweet

My knee bobbed on the rung of bar stool
Elbow and arm propping my head up
Romantic glow in her dark kitchen

Muddy swirl of butterscotch and fudge
Rich cocao sharpness with a touch of gold
Buttery custard

An unlikely couple
Pudding monogamy 
Match made so heavenly

Interrupting the choco-butter marriage
A tangy cheesecake middle
Undone now...I'm more intrigued 

She slides the plate over to me
The hum of the florescent lights
The chirp of crickets through the window
The house was still

Just me, just her

Better than sex she promises
A grin passes across her face
Her lips unzip to reveal
A smile, a little sinister.

I pushed my fork through 
Soft and light
The dessert reached my tongue

My chest fell
The creamy chocolate melted 
I bit down gently on the candy

I was speechless
Joyous flavours, pleasure of 
A fudge flirtation
Bold butterscotch

Shameless whip cream 
Sits on the corners of my lip

A little moan of approval

A rush through my taste buds

I sigh amd breathe in and breathe out

Heavy.

I taste what she described

And what she described...

Simple ecstasy

She giggles again.
Best girl friends
Thoughts in unison

A tiny death

Like Sex in a Pan