I get the impression
that you like me the way you like dessert:

praising my appearance, presentation,
eyeing a swirl of cream,
licking your lips at the sparkle of glacé

Anticipation.

When you cradle me gently
in the curve of your silver spoon:

your tongue samples my sweet delight,
fleeting flavors hold your senses enraptured
the lingering aftertaste beckons

More.

Your silver spoon scrapes
the bottom of the glass bowl:

melted cream pools languidly,
my last sweet aftertaste slips from your tongue
while you do the dishes.