“Chicken mole.” Gasped wife four.
“I made it!”

Saucy chocolate decadence
From a too wet spoon
Soils her cleavage screaming,”

“Voila!” in high pitched bird calls.

Amanda’s kitchen wizardry
Was unclutched.

“Look!”

Husband number two,
Pure panicked sweat,
Like rain,
Splashed off glistening
Abdominal flesh,

Nods, delivered from
Cold feet.

“No fire.”

“Warm tortillas.”

That look again…
Oh well.
Only innuendo.
Man died.
So?

“Thanks, babe,” he snorts while laughing.

Nervous
Tick.
“It looks great, but…”

Feed the dogs?

“Stomach encore?
Awe, honey.” Whined self-entitled
Miss Jingle Tits, USA.

“Just this teeny bite.”

“Open sesame!”