She takes a big pinch of dough
and bakes it into a sensuous loaf.
She looks at me, winks,
puts the bread on the cooling rack,
slices it with utmost tenderness, spreads
gooseberry jam on both heels. There
is no dogma in her hints,
slight nudges only. Her body
is a Corpus Christi
in tight leggings (vermillion
exposing the curves of a million 
desires). The orbed fruit
stings my tongue with its sour
whip, the wheated host helps
the glob slide down my gullet.
Swallowing again is hard to do,
I close my eyes and fight off
an ugly grimace. when I open up,
she’s flung her arm out 
the window with the birds’ share
and now turns and smiles
with a loose ease that says
take it or leave it