Oh forbidden love.
To labor over what is wrong,
to fight another day,
to long for tragedy.
But what is love forbidden,
without lust taboo.
Your soft, glistening curves are that of a goddess,
fitting perfectly into my hands.
To embrace you is to touch delicacy,
an extension of me that I treat with more care than myself.
Yet not a sound is uttered when I place you over an open flame.
Your base begins to burn and what is left inside boils.
The room soon fills with the smell of you,
and the wafts of your insides entice me, as I prepare the china.
Finally, a loud, high pitched scream as you reach completion.
I remove you with care,
knowing that you are the only one I will ever love.
Tea Pot.
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