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,

Hurry

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

wait

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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