Table for Two
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It isn’t the cardamom or cumin,
nor the rosemary, sage or thyme,
there’s a hint of oregano but the taste
is mostly undefined.

You spent several hours over it,
Stirring it to a smoothness divine,
Then offered me a taste from a ladle,
And laid out my favorite wine.

Now we sit across from each other,
Candlelight shining in our eyes,
I ask you for your secret recipe,
And the “je ne sais quoi” it hides.

But some questions are rhetorical
Asking them a pleasant routine,
We both know the answer’s love
it’s richness felt but never seen.

November 20, 2005
Categories: Poetry . . Author: Prags

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