Condiments

*

“We are all condiments, in our own way, some compliment each other better than others. “

“We all have a taste that is yet to be explored”

My nails are painted marrow red, I told him.

He has a nice mouth and exquisite palate.

Balsamic and strawberries, is how I think we should be, his preference

A little tart, a bite of something wise and earth worn

Nectarous and piquant

He tastes, I think, what a fresh bruise on skin would taste like

You’re the boss applesauce

I will say

Relent as butter would on the steaming, soft center of fresh brioche

I tell him I want to flow and fade on his mouth that way

He tells me he succumbs like a slice of Iberico ham who’s fat melts at the touch of the lips to fork to meat, hint of acorn aroma to his nostrils, that I am complex that way

And I want to fall apart the way braised meat does at the slight touch of a fork, I want his hands to do that to me.

*

When we talk of fruits I tell him I am a ripening peach in his morning glow

And he says I would be the one he would pluck from the highest branch…one he would smell from miles and travel off the beaten path to sink his teeth into

And I told him he could extract everything from me, and run down his chin, past his neck

And that I’m smiling

He says my smile is a plump Michigan cherry, bursting with honeyed, provocative juices, a bite for something ever so small and delicate

*

And I can imagine his musk is something of braised short ribs, roasted whole chicken, golden like the crevices of his joints and the sweet/saltiness of bacon and mirepoix

His mouth would taste of bourbon and Guinness.

A spirit thick as a milkshake.

*

He is one who can handle spontaneity and multiplicity. A chef in the kitchen with every burner on high. I am his fire as his hand draws the flame upward into his palm.

Condiments. We compliment each other like poached pear and fois gras.