I loved him most
when he returned from daily grind,
his hands still gently held my soul,
his fleece permeating garlic salts
and aroma of cheese, in grated sprinkles
of generous toppings. I would approach him
at the door, his face joyful...happy. His
feminine fingers, taut and long, reaching
for tender touch, hungry digits traced
loving jawline as lips tentatively shared
warm welcome upon equal strokes of
etched togetherness. I'd help him shed
his attire and greedily inhale the hours
inbetween, from dawn 'til noon -- rich
tomato swirls embedded in doughy abodes,
capsicums and sliced onions lingering
'neath nails; kissing flesh in mozzarella
moments, the metal grater, the safety
gloves, the twinkles of laughter from
colleague conversations singing pizza
paradise praises, the hairnet atop
shaven head and the short journey
to our door.
