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The Feast

This is a poem I wrote "way back" when I was young and restless, in love and yearning for something. It's over 20 years old. I am different now, but the yearning still remains.

dancing alone

The Feast

I have prepared a feast for you

a liturgy,


I have carved fresh apples to the core

Salted, baked, kneaded, plucked

fresh fruit from a ripe vine

honey, stolen recklessly from the honey bee

Dripping and sweet

The roast is plump, ready, rich-full

of its own juices

I bathed

My hair is cut, styled, curled

a satin dress clings, curves around my hip

I reach down,

dropping perfume

on the bone of my ankle

and the small of my back

The candles, blessed and scented

burn hot

a drop of red wine rests on my lip

and I wait



We feast, tumble, play

like new born kittens

eyes closed

warm, wet

our instincts

make us thirsty for comfort

sucking everything from each other

learning how to love

- by Diane Currie

May 3, 1997

© Diane Currie Sam

Unless otherwise noted, all poems here are available for purchase or licensing as song lyrics. Contact me for rates.



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I reached a point in my life where I have to publish what I write. Stories, poems, essays, plays. Thank you for being part of whatever unfolds here. 

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Diane Currie Sam 

Writer. Storyteller. 

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