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the banquet of me

the sublimity of femininity

I wonder how many women
have written
or thought,

“I am not
a side dish,
an appetizer,
or dessert.

I am an entree.”

I am not
a glass of wine
to savor
after a night out
with your boys.

I am not
a piece of cake
to eat
while your wife
is sleeping
in your marriage bed.

I am, in fact, a
delicious banquet
of delights!

If you can’t handle
the fullness,
if you’re too scared,
to taste
all my flavors–

the sweet (like a cherry)
the bitter (like dark chocolate)
the charred (like some ribs)
the sour (like a green apple)
the savory (like lentil soup)
the astringent (like green tea)
the spicy (like a habanero, baby)
the tangy (like, well, you know)
the creamy (like devonshire),

if you just want
the sweet,
leave the table.

I’m willing to wait
for the one
who is empty enough
to receive
and full enough
to give.

I’m willing to wait
for the feast
of love.

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