I haven’t felt much like cooking since Trace went into the hospital, Lizi had emergency surgery, and Uncle E left to stay with her for a bit and help out with Little E.

At first I didn’t want to cook because it was just too hot, and now, it seems I’ve lost my mood altogether. That seems an impossible and improbable situation given what I know about my own love for cooking, but it is absolutely true.

I think life just caught up with me, and I pooped out. What can I say? 🤷🏼‍♀️ It happens to the best of us.

However, my adoration for all things sweet has not abated one iota; so today, I found a prompt based on one of Lauren Russell’s collaborative poetry exercises. The exercise required that I write a poem based on a secret shame, or a secret pleasure.

I think perhaps I had as much fun trying to think of a guilty pleasure as I did writing this sultry, smoking hot ode to my true love.

What is your secret guilty pleasure?

lady godiva 

can i taste 
your sweet succulence, 
your crisp-cookie, 
your bark without a bite, 
your gooey caramel pull, 
your coconut cream, 
and your milk chocolate chew 
melting in my mouth?

can i taste 
your dark chocolate, 
your milky way wonder, 
your sea salt sprinkles 
that tease the tongue? 

meet me 
in my bed; 
slip into 
my mouth 
and melt away 
the sorrows. 

meet me 
in the dark
where we can 
change the world, 
or at least 
the moment. 

last night 
your siren song bewitched 
and i succumbed. 

this morning 
i looked both ways 
before returning 
your golden box 
to the cupboard 
and slipping silently 
back into bed.

—Carla Jeanne Picklo Jordan