Leftovers

Leftovers

I've always loved leftovers.
Is that why I love you,
leftover from all the women
who had a piece of you?
You loved dishing it out,
watching them take it, savoring it,
always ready with the serving spoon,
'Would you like more'?
And now, so many years,
so many meals later,
you rest in your refrigerated dish,
hoping you have the flavor of yesterday,
wishing I would take you and warm you up,
close my eyes and lick my lips.

ampoule, July Seventeenth, TwoThousandTwelve

Lovely how this races along with lusty, salacious implications, then screeches to a sad, sad end.

Well deserved though, I should say. Ampoule, this one is a keeper!

Very cute!

I loved every morsel of this poem!

Very nice and simple. Nevertheless, I believe that remembering one should be reflected through a more sublime theme and images, or maybe I'm deceived with my perusals. What do you think?

Thank you for reading and for your comments.

Mojtaba-Iraqi, you are not deceived. It is what you believe.

Leftovers or...leftlovers?
...HHhhuuumm...better not to
play that game...?
for the sake of both "parties"?