I want to write you a poem
The way you cook me dinner
While I sit on the counter and watch
You put on my favorite radio station
And every time you walk past on the way to the fridge
You give me a kiss
One time I try to pull you back for more
So you pick me up
Wrap my legs around your waist
And Spin me around to the music
Laughing while I lament the burning pasta
Set me down on the widow seat with the balcony attached
You go back to make us both a plate
I devour everything you make me
Because I know you pour your love into it
When we're both finished
a little drunk off the night
you run your hands down my thighs and tell me I'm desert
The night ends with you eating me out on the windowsill
I want to write you a poem
But I don't ever think I'll do your cooking justice
