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My Baked Potato

by Frank Zahn

Heat brings you to life and softens the firm flesh
within your protective russet skin. You still have
that smell of fresh from my garden. And when you
expand and pulsate from baking, I steal you away
in anticipation of tantalizing foreplay and rapture.

I slit and pry opens your skin, releasing a burst
of steam that rises in a rush toward the ceiling.
I fold sweet butter and fresh ground pepper gently
into your hot flesh and then quickly pour over it
an equally hot cheese sauce thinned with beer.
The cheese sauce quivers when I top it off with
a heap of chilled sour cream and chopped chives.

I take a large tablespoon and run it down through
the chives, the sour cream, and the cheese sauce.
I run the tablespoon still deeper into your peppered
and buttered flesh. Then without hesitation,
I scoop up an enormous spoonful, maneuver it
between my lips, and deposit it into my mouth.

My cheeks bulge as my lips struggle for closure.
As I chew, butter oozes out over my lower lip
and drools down my chin. My taste buds explode.
My eyes fill with tears of elation. I am hopelessly
lost in moments of orgasmic rapture that you,
my decadent baked potato, so generously provide.
 

Copyright © 2019 Frank Zahn.

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