Thursday, January 15, 2015

Hairy Soup

The faintest trace of garlic lingers from his fingers
Reaching for a stray lock of hair
Falling across my mouth
And I am suddenly deaf to words that spill from his
Until the short of his kitchen capers plays out its final scene
In my mind
And silence falls as he waits for an answer
To what I wonder turning red
And I ask instead what he cooked last night
'Minestrone' he said

No comments:

Post a Comment