Lunch Box

She has pomegranate eyes and cherry lips,
snow white teeth and chocolate hair.
she is breakfast for the lustful,
dinner for the vengeful,
and lunch for me.

I wrap her in my plastic arms
and seal her air tight with a kiss.
She does not struggle but rather gives
and assists.

I crave her on Sunday afternoons
with such force no substitute will do.
I chew slowly to savor the richness
of her boastful peach skin.
Drink in her girlish apricot sent.

My meal, my girl
with the pomegranate eyes.

Midnight

The corners of my eyelids ache
weighed heavily down
by images to come
through cover of darkness
with skin curtains gently shut
locked by night's dew
and lashes touching cheeks
I wait hopeful
for my inevitable dreams of you.