Never tasted so sweet
Tanning butter. Warm sun, a plunge into comfortable water, like being in the womb, no difference between you and what surrounds you. Afternoon nap in a hammock with your hair giving off a touch of chlorine. Dinner by candlelight, light ocean breezes flickering the flame. The fish on your plate stares back at you with a dulled eye. Fish never tasted so sweet.
Creamy potatoes with a layer of crunch. Haricots verts steamed and tossed with sesame oil and ginger. You tap the skin on the crème brulee into shards, take a deep drink of Sauternes.
In the dark he comes to you, smooth muscles, breath underwritten by cigarettes and mints. It isn’t a surprise. It isn’t expected. It just is. You accept the gift, a kind of reawakening, the necklace of kisses, his rough voice, the burn of an unshaven cheek. You interlace fingers and he speaks of your beauty, your irresistibility, how you taste like papaya. He has been watching you all week.
Morning brings an empty bed, a freshly-plumped pillow, a trio of hairs tangled on the sheet. In the shower you sigh. Remember. Anticipation only lives once.
(Soundtrack: La vie en rose, sung by Yves Montand.)
Image by besia.
From a prompt: Just imagine.