Raclette Romance

Fingers warm against my abdomen
a Raclette, burning and dripping sweat,
and I need to melt yet, against
the hardest parts of Greco-Roman.

Bodies release like Swiss cheese
scraped off you into my roundest bits,
permanently pressed cheese sandwiches;
the pungent smell of release.

Oh, how sublime, the ancient rind,
curving splendor, a fountain sip
of perfectly paired white wine lips,
roasting flames with your gooey hips;
I love you best when unrefined.


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