Where Do You Hide Your Pleasure?

banana split

 

 

If you leave ice cream

In the freezer too long—

Your favorite—maybe chocolate

That makes your endorphins soar,

Or vanilla, so creamy

Your mouth has an orgasm,

 

But never strawberry,

Always artificial, never

Succulent like freshly picked,

Sun warmed juices dripping

From the corners of your mouth

Like your grandfather’s

Labyrinthian garden,

 

 

 

But real ice cream

Like rocky road, cookies and cream,

Cocoanut, caramel, pistachio, peanut butter

Creamsicle, sorbet, spumoni,

Thirty-one flavors plus

One hundred and one more

 

But not Neapolitan

Where you try to separate out

That strawberry strip,

And you fail as you let the chilled

Sterling silver spoon whip up

A generic moosh

To hide the faux strawberry

Assault, still

 

You can’t keep ice cream

Locked up for months

While you pretend to be

On a diet.

It crusts over like Antarctica,

Texture slivers, bitter, freezer

Burn, stale as a dumpster—

Just vanilla with hot fudge,

like love, you must consume it now,

hot and cold,

While it consumes you.

C.J Prince

copyright 2018