This is another poem that I wrote yesterday en route to Santa Lucia.
Love is more interesting when it’s pickled,
Laced and spiced with affection,
Fiery herbs and salacious juices,
Stirred and simmered to perfection.
Soak the meats clean of any impurities,
Then tenderise it and palm it with love,
Leave it in a marinade and a suspense of heat,
Making your lover’s palate feel on clouds above.
Paint the plate with greens, reds and browns,
Slice the vegetables so they’re succulent in the mouth,
Make sure the compliments are cared for duly,
And choose a dark red wine from hemispheres in the south.
A salad should contain oily and peachy tomatoes,
Chopped onion and mozzarella cheese are a must,
Mix with cute lettuce leaves, peppers and Spanish olives,
Then spike it with oil and balsamic vinegar for lust.*
(NOTE: Ensure the croutons have a delicate crust!)
The cutlery should be polished and placed correctly,
And no smooth napkin would make a polite person seethe,
Low lights, dancing candle, graceful music and a specious scent,
And dress each plate with a seductive basil leaf.
A suggestive dessert always satisfies a sweet tooth,
Especially laced in a devilish spirit,
A hint of cinnamon in soft crumble tends to excite,
From then on your night should become explicit.
It’s a recipe for a particular kind of healing,
Or to enter your lover’s heart through their belly,
But I’ve now made myself extra hungry,
And I could eat runny custard from a welly.
Picture not mine. Just conveniently pinched.