Feed Me, Woman

Speak to me, woman
thy words are as a meal
I gorge on.
Words whose flavor are akin
to honey dripping from a muffin.
As I bite into its lavish fiber
drips well at the corner
of my mouth
tongue struggles
in an effort to slurp
even that morsel.
Nary a letter might go to waste.
 
Feed me, woman!
 
Place those strawberries
twix my lips
as you so tenderly do
allowing me to savor
every bit of the juices
as I roll the fruit on my tongue
inebriating all sense,
penetrating my whole being,
from thy special brew.
 

Thy words are tidbits of joy
sprinkled as powdered sugar
on top of a freshly baked tart
and
when mama allowed...
like licking the bowl
after the cake is in the oven.
 
Feed me, Woman!
 
You speak not only sugary treats
yet a balanced meal.
Meat and taters, spiced,
cooked to perfection,
gravy steaming on top,
garden fresh veggies
drenched
in the butter of your smile.
Thy words call up memories of joy
and mesmerize my psyche
which floats to a pillowry rest on a bed of clouds.
 
O Feed me, woman!
 
Words which assist in the daily walk
thru that dark archway;
the one I must cross to make each day
a show of love
and watch as the chewing of thy words 
advances the metamorphous which lifts me.
Lifts me higher in the glow of the moon
and within reach of the glittering stars.
Lift me in a journey touching all the universe;
beaming, glowing a magnificent array
of rainbow colored hues.
 
Feed me, woman, allowing those sweet tarts
baked so lovingly in thy own oven
to gorge my soul and in my mind,
fly and soar with passion spilling
lovets to each in need of joy.
Allow me to touch the wandering heart.
Let me squeese love into the smallest cracks
and as the ill of heart search,
be touched.
 
Feed me, woman.
If no other understands;
I do.
If none other grasp thy purpose;
I shall
and thrive in the warmth and sweet
aromas radiating in words
from the oven of thy heart.
 
Del Cano 2004,April

 "I Walk the Back Streets and Cry"