Le Gateau Erotique – The Erotic Cake

I love French. Love, love, love French. I have been taking it since I was 12 years old and actually made it to Level 3 in College. I’ve also taken Italian and some day hope to take Latin. I was told that I have an intuitive grasp of languages, romance (are you surprised?) in particular, but alas I lacked discipline as I was seduced by the written.

I watched La Dolce Vita  last week and was reminded of how I love the sound of language as well. It is aurally seductive and makes me weak in the knees. Ssssh! It’s a secret.

I will also confess that I was married to a baker and that the inspiration of this poem came from The Erotic Baker of NYC whom I took a shine to long ago. Sex and food are on my top ten list. What’s not to love? 😉

The Erotic Cake

Like a cake,

you generate me

from the love laden bowl of imagination.

Make me and unmake me.

You lathe me with your tongue

and slaver creamy, shiny ganache over my limbs

engraved with your baker’s knife.


You suckle at the blueberries which crown my breast

savoring each curve,

decorated with imperfect hues

Until ripe and juicy –

I burst free.

Gushing purple, midnight passion

across the surface of the Earth.


Your hands create me,

a new conglomeration of chocolate lips,

spheric egg whites and my heart’s flour.

Whipped and beaten

until airy batter appears

undulating on it’s own – happy accord.


Your hands mold me

into precise, round,

perfect 12” layers.


I become

dense, creamy,

fragrant and sated.


Between my layers,

when I am perfection

upon a plate,

spread eagle and shivering.

I am laid wide

like the ocean

for all to see and feel,

taste and hear.

My silent cries


newborn cacaphonies.

You cut out a piece of my soul

and for your pleasure

swallow it whole.

Filling my emptiness 

with Grand Marnier

and setting my soul,

in all it’s dimensions,



Le Gateau Erotique

Comme un gateau, fais d’une pate

dans une vase remplie d’imagination.

Tu me refais avec ta langue mouillee.

Tu fais et refais de mon corps

comme une moule portant l’empreinte

de ton couteau de boulangerie.

Tu suce le contour de mon sein comme s’il y en a des fraise

juteuses qui l’entourent completement.

Je fais jaillir librement tout
en-dessus de la terre,

la passion solennelle de minuit.

De tes mains tu me confectionnes

des levres nouvelles faits de

avec de la melange proportionnee des

et de la farine venant de mon coeur.

Tes mains m’ont arrange avec precision.

Je suis ronde d’une parfaite
circonference de 12″

et Je suis redondante, succulente,

et d’une odeur captivante.

Quand Je suis prete

et me couchee dans une assiette,

Je me suis elargie comme une aigle,

comme de la mer pour tout le monde

de me voir et me sentir.

Pour toi d’y prendre du gout

et d’entendre mes cris enfantins.

Tu prends un morceau de mon ame

et pour ton plaisir t’as avale en remplissant

mon vide avec du “Grand Marnier”

et satisfait mone ame entre toutes ses dimensions.

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