They say the path to the heart
is through the stomach.
I say 'amen' to this!
Give me a Frenchman
singing while he sizzles up
something buttery and bad–
in a good way, bad–
while I wile away
with wine on the couch.
Mama raised me right
with manners and meatloaf,
but this modern Millie
knows the key to true bliss.
There is nothing sexier
than a man in an apron–
assuming, of course, he is
actually cooking.
Lori Boulard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/frenchmen-in-aprons/
