Spreading out all my loves, I trace patterns
The poet’s love
That love so stifling, strangling with metaphors
The artist’s love
That love so consuming, killing with strokes
The musician’s love
That love so predictable, patterned with notes
The writer’s love
That love so forlorn, fettered with blocks
I am in the mood to cook a new love
Woman, don’t look at me with those greedy eyes
I didn’t care for others, but this one I won’t share
Sit you may, while I ready the pots and pans
Just don’t pry, though you may peep and peer
This one will be delightful, delicious, delectable
Marinated in warmth colored adulation
Neither overnight, nor instant like the noodles
This will take days, may be months and years
A pinch of envy, mixed with desire to acquire
Liberal loops of lust - enticing, entreating
Pressured with prettiness and pettiness in equal amounts
Roasted golden till oozing mirth and wit
A dash of devilry, cast in angelic halos
Garnishing of grave pronunciations-
I can do with ‘Till death do us apart’
Patience woman, it’s not ready yet!
It will need it to be served hot,
So let it stew, will you?
