The Orchid and the Dumpling

They are both fair and soft.
One rested in a narrow glass vase,
slender and fragile, she looked.
My wine drenched rim
barely making it midway up her length.
There she is,
turned away and upwards.
The gentleman absently fingers her smooth skin
whilst impatiently talking on the phone.
His roughly calloused fingers
impatiently plucking at her immaculate delicacy.
Does it hurt her?
The man's wine suffused breath hangs like a cloud over our thoughts.
Sure, we are inanimate, but we are not vacuous.
The other lies lies soft and yielding on a plate.
Chubby to a fault, but smooth to touch.
Smoothness all around.
Shiny where the steam in an effort to escape
has surrendered to her arresting flesh.
She evokes lust.
One look at her and you want to poke her
dig into her flesh and know what that feels like.
She offers herself to your lustful enquiry
your all devouring interrogation.
She will mingle happily with the wine droplets
and satisfy the man till he wants no more.
They are both fair and soft and satisfactory.