Flying Spittle

tastes good
to my soul’s tongue
a double or triple helping
of potato-leek soup,
satisfyingly soporific
grounding and benign.

looks with love-eyes
sparkling, winky,
lighting me up inside
all up and down the spine
of my Christmas Tree.

transforms all my surroundings
into edible delights–
my heart twirling in slow motion
like a grinning Boxer chasing its tail–
I must let myself slobber
a little
on you.