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Vicci Bentley

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Lure-charm of the kitchen witch

Stay with me. Stay with me now
and we’ll rub hipbones to make a homefire,
take the flints in our eyes as kindling,
blow a tinderkiss to spark our hearthlust.

Tomorrow you’ll wake to kettlebreath
and the bitternut steam of medium roast, dry toast hope
Midased with honeyed morningbeams

so all through the day you will carry me like a gut feeling
pledged to my warm bread body;
lick my name off your lips with the salty tonguetip promise

of an aubergine evening’s fleshy melt,
the paperskin of onions – tears between the layers -
and the slippery, transparent heartsmear on the blade.

Shall I make the pot froth over - tapdance bubbles
on my hob of sizzleplenty? Risk the swallowfast of
too much, too soon?

Or settle for a chicken picking moment?
Our synchronised fingers crooking the buttress of a birdbreast,
snapping to seal the brittle wish that this bed we have made
will unmake lifestains;
that tangled sheets will apple pie this gnawing need
and stem midnight’s hunger for trust.

Sit now. Eat with me.
Eat or bust.

Vicci Bentley is a women's magazine journalist and writes poems for light relief.

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