Our love is lazy and routine
	sluggish and decadent
	as fattening foods and heavy brocades
	stockpiled on sturdy platforms
	erected with an air of ceremony.
	Parades of chocolate kisses to cross the bridge of one's nose
	lips sweet as baked bread--
	the heady smell of hot flesh
	kneaded by aching fingers
	wafts through our disheveled clothes
	drowning our senses in familiar excess
	as we gorge ourselves on sentiment and sexuality.