DESSERT

When I sit at the dinner table I look at three men who have sucked my breasts.

One sucks them still, two sucked them temporarily.

I look at the sun flooding in through the window and I look at the glasses on the table.

I look at three mouths that open and close around the food.

I look at the food disappear from the table as the sun shifts in the window.

I say:

You have all sucked my breasts.

As they wipe their mouths with the napkins.

They nod and smile at me and I smile at them.

The meal is not over, I add. There is dessert.

I say and stand up because I don’t want anyone to leave.

I want to have my eyes closed as I bring them the dessert.

The hot, red-hot dessert and whipped cream.