Feb 16, 2012


Mary at Poetry Jam  asks for poems dealing with seasonings. 

Fetish

Give me a girl with garlic on her breath!
Fragrance of warmer air and jugs of wine.
Oh, such a one I'd love half way to death!
Not all the way, I could not spare the time

from thinking of her mediterranean hair,
falling about her shoulders and the wood-
en chopping board, the cloves of garlic there
blithe to be squidged to make her lips taste good.

Sometimes she'll munch mouthfuls of allium raw –
pungent disulphides plating pearly teeth,
promising scented lungfuls and much more.
Ah now I live and breathe, while underneath

the cooker-hood the pasta rolls and boils
as drops of garlic essence she drips in.
Not too much in case the penne spoils
nor so little her perfumed burps seem thin.

As aniseed is to the hunting hound
so hints of garlic urge my manly pride
and when she smoothes the garlic butter round
her person - she can run but she can’t hide.

Keep, if you please, your "Blue Grass" and "Chanel,"
witches' brews that all real ladies scorn.
Let me inhale the aroma I love well -
garlic sweet as sunlight each new dawn.

(Posted previously on August 26th. 2011)

3 comments:

  1. What a wonderfully romantic Valentine ...

    I love garlic too - and my old MIL (God bless her soul) chewed on raw garlic whilst she cooked, said it took away the smell of fags on her breath.

    ReplyDelete
  2. nor so little her perfumed burps seem thin.

    This is wonderful as long as two are indulging.

    ReplyDelete

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