A random poem of hesitance, romance, and dinner-dating.
When we met for lunch –
Though the clock over the quad is too fast
For your tongue –
I'd forgotten my LBD,
Do you remember? You were missing
A cufflink and I laughed.
I joked that it had fallen
Into our dessert
That we never shared:
Crème brulée. Overcooked.
Dry as the ground beneath my hands –
And one gave me support;
The other caught us both off guard.
That starlight in a warm cover;
I swear your eyes had never
Been so full of light.
You called it hope, unconvinced,
I lied. I said the wine made you glint, wink, dive.
Inside, I was as a naked as the
Cool moon, the cool underneath of my crème brulée.
You didn't tell me you loved me
For another four months –
Like the inside of a dessert,
We were slow to reveal.
Desserts are only tempting after sensory trials.