Little birds flutter inside my mouth
as two solitudes meet and greet
each other in loneliness unsheathed.

She presents a silent aura of distress,
as tips of tongues speak unsaid words.
I soften her armadillo-like carapace.

Locked in an embrace, galvanized by her runic scent,
I sense her esoteric soul was reserved for me.
My instantaneous love for her was meant to be.

The first kiss, the first of many hor d’oeuvres,
is followed by a sumptuous meal
she learned how to prepare at Le Cordon Bleu.

We dine on bouillabaisse, black truffles, coq au vin,
tartiflette, quiche Lorraine, ratatouille, crepes Suzette,
mousse chocolat, and a Madeleine.

Our musky-scented bodies twist and writhe,
wound round each other, spines entwined,
coiled together like snakes who mate for days.