True Love

Today is the start of British Pie Week.
The pie has been hanging around our midriffs since the 12th century, and it's allure shows no sign of diminishing.
The photo is of one of my creations, a beef and vegetable pie. There's something terribly medieval about the pastry, don't you think?


My darling Pie

When did I fall in love with you?
Was it at Simpsons in the Strand or in the little cafe on the seafront in Southend? Whenever and wherever it was, that day or night was the happiest moment of my life. I remember how I felt when you were in front of me, your handsome warm brown face and beautiful bulging body tempting me, willing me, to indulge like never before. And so I did.

I know other things have come into my life as they surely must, and some of them have left me giddy with their opulence and newness, but you, my darling Pie, always satisfied me, leaving me full and aching for more. Even though I knew you were bad for me and would probably do me harm, I could never say no to you.

Do you remember one Friday night in June? I do.
I was in a silly girlish mood, dressed to seduce in the kitchen of love, and as I laid you on my table, your heat took my breath away. God, I wanted you that night. I needed your hot cherry. You stared up at me, willing me tantalizing me, begging me to break you, to eat you. And I did. Your juice lay on my lips and as I sucked you in, all I wanted to do was swallow. And I did.

But then the nights drew in and my sweet cherry pie boy grew up and instead of kissing a sweet lad I devoured a good load of beef. Some of those bitter, bone achingly cold evenings were almost unbearable, but you Pie, made them bearable. And on one night in December I sat watching snow fall waiting for you to rise, and as the hour of our intercourse grew nearer my heart thrashed in my chest because I knew that soon, very soon, I would have you. And I did.

Lovers will come and Lovers will go but you, Pie, will always be special.
On my lips and tongue you linger.

Love you to death...
Gloria x