Poem By Elisa M. Golden
Long tapered ebony sticks
astutely poised between nimble fingers.
Confidently, you lift slippery rolled raw tuna
up to a sensual waiting mouth.
I watch as you finger the slender implements,
pressing beveled teak on inside flesh.
Gracefully, crisscrossed rods dance battements
in your warm decisive hands.
Black tips sweep over a celadon rectangle,
encircling coiled morsels fixed atop a wasabi pillow.
Diving, you pluck the fish scroll from its bed
with the urgency of an insatiate paramour.