Finger Licking

The juices of the mango
Dripped down my hand
Creating little rivers
Coursing along the topography
Of my fingers.
A sweet, tropical river
That reminds me of home,
Of summers devouring
The fruit morning,
Afternoon and night.

He took each finger
And inserted them
In his mouth,
His tongue bathing them,
Wiping them clean
Of the now sticky substance.

He licked and sucked
Each finger as though
They were his own,
And yet it didn’t appear
As though it was a job
He had to do, instead
It was a job
He wanted to do.

It was a job
I would pay him
Well to do,
Paying him in kind
With lick and nips,
Pulling oohs and aahs
From the depths
Of his being.

I would be paying him
In a currency as old
As man, and maybe older.
But now I will enjoy
This little treat
And anticipate the bigger one
Yet to come.