Artwork by Jorge Berlato

Alone tonight, and the first time he’s cooked for her,
She likes how his deft fingers chop, stir and mould.
Then a firm poke of the meat before hefting it
whole in his hand, feeling the texture and weight.

Her voice like honeyed butterflies, it flutters dreamily
while the stardust candlelights reflect in crystal orbs
anticipate the tingling from his fingertips again
to read the braille of love imprinted on her skin

A breath by the ear and inhaling her scent
arms slide and entwine, fingers lock like vines
They grip, they squeeze, hold, taste and then… wait
As a button is loosened and a knot is undone…

Somehow she’s always known this embrace,
She laughs, shaking off her time alone.
Dreary years vanish as they clasp and kiss.
Time spreads ahead; it’s not a race.

Measured movements synchronize to
the sounds of a languid trumpet…