I talk about food, you and everything in between.

Poem by Zo Navarro

“There’s so much talk about love and food!”
That’s what I complain to you
over the phone, while I prepare a meal
good for two.

I am also a victim of this farce, I guess.
Eating alone is a lonely practice.
I think, with you here,
love remains warm, your presence blessed.

And would you mind ignoring my morsels?
I know you love meat that’s sauced and tender.
I set aside a piece, maybe three,
cooked to your liking. Say, could you tell?

Here we are, intimate, almost vulnerable and scared.
The pad of your thumb brushed against my cheek,
removing a few grains of cooked rice.
Here, your dinner is side by side my heart bared.

I won’t request for a next time,
but I will hem and haw asking for your favorite recipe.
I’ll make a mess of the kitchen, and might ruin it a little.
But, hey. Is cooking for love a crime?

I hope you rise to the smell of a hearty breakfast,
and sleep sweetly after a quick midnight snack.
I want to know all your preferred flavors,
and nostalgia from your childhood’s past.

Here, I am free on this date, on this time, this place.
I’ll be in my best-dressed, running my mouth again.
I know you’ll call my insistence to cook as endearing,
but I’ll stutter. I won’t admit to the rosy bloom upon my face.