Thursday, December 23, 2010

A sort of sonnet on the subject of your dinner.

Breaking brown bread, oven fresh,
a last faint puff of warm unfurling steam,
an avocado, careful spoon scooping,
scraping along the bumps felt through the skin,
then olive oil in a fine slow drizzle,
sea salt in fine fat flakes

that will crunch under teeth,
pushing inside the yielding yellow flesh
fragrant oil running to the tongue, salt's bite,
crackling crust, the warming fragrant bread,

a hand rests on a hip, insistent, firm,
satisfied, demanding satisfaction.

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