Fourth time lucky

Love Poem #5
When I fed you I set you three courses:
oysters from Whitstable, a carnival
of slime singed with lemon, edged
from ashtray shells and gulped;
a testicle of truffle, shaved
into a soft scramble of eggs and cream
and served on toast - crumbs brushed
from your chin by my thumb, each morsel
followed by a froth of champagne;
figs stuffed with mole, the bitter
chocolate squeezed from the fruit
as you bit the sweet flesh.

When we fed guests you set me:
rings of calamari around a candle
guttering its wax into my navel;
frets of watercress stems woven
through the down between the hooks
of my hips, dripping from the rinse;
a pharaoh's necklace - layers of mango
intersliced with pear flesh, molded
to the folds of muscle and fat
and bone lacing my heart within
its cavity, safe from the scavengers
snuffling through our house.

I'm going to get that second strophe right even if it bloody kills me!