Crusty bread, yielding sticky in the center, a shimmer pool of red wine reduction, deep in flavor, brilliant cranberry stain. Lamb shanks, fragrant rosemary, the skin sticky with brown tasty bits. Petite carrots trimmed like beginner pencils, float. I have arrived at my station. A glass of Shiraz and some Jackson Brown. Won’t you stay?
Lingers of moments, aftertaste of thoughts. Celery for balance, your smile for a laugh. The way you tell a story and play with your hair. The hair on the back of your head, I grab it to kiss you, hard and delicious. I taste you still. All I have left is hope and optimism. It tastes good with leftover lamb.