Spices And Honey Poem by Cherie Mort

She stands at the glass doors looking out, her hips tilted to one side
She does it just to torture me
She turns her head to look at me over her shoulder
Her eyes, like fire, beckon me closer
Closer, closer, and closer still
But I sit adamantly in my chair
I'm not letting her win me over that easily

She holds a glass of mango juice in her hand
She takes a sip, and I watch it travel down her throat
''How does it taste? '' I ask her
''Delightful, '' she answers smoothly, ''but not pleasurable''
''Not pleasurable? How can something that is delightful not be pleasurable? ''
She walks over to me, her hips swaying softly from side to side, like a cat
Her arms wrap around me from behind as she answers,
''I know someone who is both delightful and pleasurable to be with''
She loves to tempt me with her words and her kisses, and tries to do so now

''I'm sure you've known many a man who is both, '' I reply audaciously
She smiles and nibbles at my ear
''There is only one man I prefer''
I change the subject
''If you were a married woman, would you let your husband cheat on you? ''
''No, '' she replies, then whispers, ''I don't like to be jealous''
''Would you let me cheat on you? , '' I ask her
''You're not my husband, so it wouldn't bother me.''
''But what if I was? '' She strokes my hair
''Then I would ask you to choose, and I wouldn't stop asking until you made a choice, '' she says as she kisses my neck
''And what would you do? ''
''I'd make sure you would never forget me. Not my shape, not my voice, not my scent. I wouldn't let you forget any part of me.''
Her kisses stick to me like honey on a wooden table
I lean back into her arms and let her long curly hair tickle my face
She is truly a wolf in sheep's clothing