stephen roxborough, the holy pie trilogy

the holy pie trilogy

1. the night we went to bed with
a whole blueberry pie i laughed when you
threatened to sit on it then tempted me
to eat my way round your universe.

rich flakey buttery crust crumbled
between virgin sheets into dozens
then thousands
of sweet creamy beaches.

warm voluptuous berries exploded
on our tongues waking senses & crushing taboos
triggering ripples of tingles up & down
epicurean chakras.

we spread each other with flavor & color
then licked lips & fingers & torso for more.

the hours turned to days & the days to seconds
& the seconds to thirds of endless pleasure
& gratitude for weather farmer
& baker. we gave thanks for rainclouds
grocery clerks & truck drivers.

high praise for the sacrifice of families
& ecosystems. holy appreciation for sunshine
lowly earthworms & the magic cross-pollination
of wild bumblebees.

until at last the holy pie inside us
& the empty tin a shrine
to define the shell of divine.
memory of hallowed sacrament.
a sacred rite of passage. testament to
decadent pastry love
containing us & multitudes.

2. the second time we invited a whole pie to bed
we imagined a glowing profane holy
chaotic jumble of bumbleberries
under tender lush crust
between fresh african sheets
& we ripped into the sacred box
like wild craving animals
after a fresh kill. the plump dripping

blood of bumbleberries smeared
over hands & faces we devoured the insides
as if starving for weeks. savored deep
vibrating flavor as if this sweet
gushy wondrous cluster
the last pie on earth. as if the mythical season
of legendary bumbleberries
would never come again.

then we licked each other clean enough
to feel the internal tingles & tide
of new berry blood rushing & pulsing inside
filling us thrilling us fulfilling us
with the massive mystical passion
of raw animalistic love
all steamy hot jungle afternoon.

3. the third time we made love
to a bakery fresh pie you came to bed dressed
as the high priestess of temptation
high in heels & deportment & garter belt
a stunning ethereal vision
in a swirl of smoky silk stockings.

your red delicious lips & holy furnace on fire
the seductive scent of us melting into each other
our hungry fingers feeding tongues
our voracious taste buds feeding throats
swallowing & stoking our bellies
with the bittersweet fruit
from the tree of carnal knowledge.

our midnight mid-autumn apple fall
a succulent dissolve
of crust & lust
diffusing into delectable resurrection
then flying into sweet honey-crisp
ascension.

the love & the pie & the love of pie inside us
mesmerizing & rising us shifting us
beyond material guise lifting us
outside realms of reach & touch
enhancing & expanding us
into the great wide cosmic pie-ghost
of everything.

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