they came around
this early morn,
asking for you
they always do,
check in regular,
especial in the now
disharmonious waking times,
ever since you checked out
a different path,
your own,
wanted a kitchen
with no His aprons,
where you were
chief chef,
braising simmering, shucking
of your own choosing,
and the cooking accessories
were yours, initialed,
so you stated
in your
'so short, so long' note,^
a trifling amuse-bouche,
for me to consume,
for you,
to be amused by...
so long,
now soloing,
duo thing wasn't working,
two sopranos,
in one kitchen
trying to out
high note each other,
a creatively strange way to say
I love you but,
I am Top Chef
thus is the human way,
to err for what we want,
to err for what we had,
err for what we now need
and the long and the short of it,
long for...
the smell of your voice,
the song of thy fresh creations,
wafting, enticing and now
in hind-sighting,
mesmerizing me awake from
loving bed to contested kitchen
now I only sing and cook professionally
which is another word for mechanically
the voice,
thine cooking smells,
cinnamon and cardamon
that resided in our skins,
check in,
looking for refreshment,
have none to offer....
ever since,
we were
so short, so long...
I loved you, I sang for you,
I cooked us into everything,
but it was not never enough.
A short note, to say so long....
8:06am Sunday
