Pilot Light My Fire

By E.A. Pugh and Laurie Blum

In the swallowed sun of the night,
she slips her ruffled apron on
as he whispers in her ear,

“I love you more…
more than the old-bay-seasoned-Ritz-cracker-drenched-in-butter-overcooked-chicken-casserole I ate because,
I love you”

His supercilious lips mist the love words
upon her neck
twisting curly hair
dampened from kitchen activities.

A new five quart pot boils upon the iron grate
blue fire star flames lick the gleaming metal
the small room fogs with the scent of manage-a-trois

half bent she rests her flour dusted arms
atop the butcher block, languid eyes closed
she smells the warm dough; oiled slick, rising, waiting
covered by an old embroidered cloth
warmed, aged refined

deep sounds of water running, flowing
a lovers hands round her tilted hips
hot butter breath slides across her shoulder
disappearing between dampened breasts
saucepan boiling
kitchen steaming
Lulling her into dreams…
of preparing new and exotic dishes.



Atop her
La Cornue Grand Palais
The crown jewel Château
in royal blue with silver and brass trim
Side by side double ovens
crescent top and clay lined
piping hot convection ovens
heating
two dozen and twenty-four
making forty-eight
golden provocative buns.
Scrumptious!
Long strong steel range
four gas, two and electric, cast iron clad burners
indoor BBQ, teppanyaki, French plaques,
custom made

with dusted arms
she draws in the flour with fingers
as he pushes in close, turning her,
lifting her craftily,
slipping off the strap of the
ruffled froc and placing her
atop the butcher block
deep sounds of water running
a lovers hands slip rounded hips
hot butter breath slides across her shoulder
disappearing between dampened breasts


Cooking hot from end to end.
You and me.
My sweet cooking range
The manage in the trois
We will build the desserts of sweet
apple pie delight
and blend tasty pleasures
you and I


“Dear?”

her husband intrudes.

09/05/2011

Posted on 09/05/2011
Copyright © 2025 E. A. Pugh