I want to chew through you like steak. I want to feel the many textures of you against my tongue – here, rough like salted almonds; there, smooth like mashed potatoes with melted butter.  I want to smell your just-baked scent, tear through your warm bread warmth with my sharp little teeth.  I want to sip your black-currant-with-undertones-of-cherry-and-earth red wine robustness. I want to inhale your saffron essence, nibble your croque monsieur. I want to toss the fork aside and tear into your pork chops with my bare hands. I want to hold your ribs messily in my fingers and stain my mouth with your sauce. I want to hold your creme brulee softness for long minutes on my tongue, I want to lick you and suck on you as if you were a strawberry dipped in chocolate.  I want to savor the champagne bubble effervescence of your eyes on mine. I want to order you up and gulp you down, bite for bite, swallow for swallow.  I want to eat and drink my fill of you – if you are my food, then gluttony is my sin.  I ravenously await your seventh course, impatient with the palate cleanser - I want to keep the taste of you thick in my mouth. I want to skip coffee and go straight to bed, naked, where I will lie sweating and moaning with the freight of you in my stomach until morning.