Sr.Flan

Why can I feel you in the garlic cloves,

And in the kitchen

The love you handled and cooked the food with

And the phantoms of your rhythmic movement

I even still taste it in the red sauce days later,

You,

Rich and mellow like the setting sun

Soft on the lips and sweet to the tongue

Like cooked garlic you went down smooth

And I could only submit

As your phantom lips

Moved across, and around, and down

Phantom hands gripping phantom hips

It breaks my heart that I love thrills like this

Masochistic self pleasure

Of letting moments go

With no

Kiss