By: Milton P. Ehrlich 

Ever since we parted, my throat is parched
for your chocolate-covered cherry eyes
that see what no one else can see—your mouth,
the taste of a sea of mahogany mousse,
and your belly button a bright red maraschino.
Our tongues spoke to each other in a language all their own,
and the incendiary razzamatazz you were below the navel,
combined with the tintinnabulation of the bells
on your sterling silver earrings was enough to drive
any man, mad with adoration.