Last night at the buffet
My wife on one side of me,
And you across, another man beside you,
As I looked up from my food,
All I saw was the one meal
I can never eat.
We first crossed the line
Of exchanging words that
Spoke of hunger
As I sat at this same buffet,
But the first time you were not sitting across from me.
You sat in another restaurant
With another man,
Eating pasta, if I recall.
We sent texts as we ate,
And of all the choices I made at the buffet,
Bok choy was the one that
We used as our code for
The hunger that I could not satisfy.
Now we are together, sharing a meal.
I reach under the table when she is not there,
No watchful eyes to see
My hand slide up your stocking clad leg
As high as decency will allow at an
All you can eat Chinese buffet,
And I feel the softness of a leg
That holds promise of the wetness just above.
I can smell the Kung Pao, the Lo Mein,
The Sweet and Sour and the Honey Garlic,
And I can smell your arousal,
The musky animal scent of your sex,
I can smell your Bok Choy.
We both need to refill our plates at the same time,
And while she stays behind and eats,
You and I go to the buffet.
We circle the food, empty plates in hand,
I reach behind you and feel the fullness
Of your ass, the rounded curves of your
Flesh held within your panties,
Just that thin layer of cotton and a skirt
Between my hand and your flesh.
I can see the General Tsao and the Chow Mein,
I can see the Crab legs and the Black Bean Beef,
I can see the Crispy Spicy and the Tender Steamed,
And I can smell your arousal as my hand caresses
The warm fleshy globes of your sensuous ass,
As I look for some Bok Choy.
Nobody can tell from my casual touches
That we share anything other than
A hunger that needs to be satisfied.
The hunger for Bok Choy, or perhaps simply
The hunger for some bamboo shoots or snow peas.
Nobody can tell from the way we circle
The buffet
That I am not really with you
But that she is waiting back at the table
Unaware of my hunger for you.
Unaware of my desire for Bok Choy.
My hunger grows,
And all I can eat is not
All I want to eat.
Passing contact, light touches,
I look across the table and see the outline
Of your erect nipples pushing against the fabric,
An invitation for dessert,
But all I take is cheesecake, a tart, a strawberry dipped in chocolate.
All I can eat is not all on the menu,
My mouth longing to suck on your long and prominent nipples,
My hands reaching at the buffet for sweet and sour sauce
As they imagine dipping into your sex for your own
Delicacies, tasting you as I satisfy my hunger for
Bok Choy.
My fortune cookie comes.
