The Soup is Piping
The soup boils and spits out at me
Reminding me of the past.
Steam builds as it circulates around the fans
Lurching forward, with a spoon,
I taste a small droplet of the sizzling delight
Only to find myself reminded of that long dreary night
I groan as I rip the picture from the wall
I stare and reconsider as the soup continues to thrive,
In the background.
One day,
One night,
we will make love again while the soup burns.
I no longer care of the seasonings in the jar
I long for connection
I stir and I stir the watery substance
Only to see the lonely figure in the reflection.
I cry out as I remember
The slow burn of a forgotten pan
The sadness in your eyes as I placed the soup in front of you
Our last moments as the spoon went to your lips
It touched and ran along your chin
I licked out towards you
yet there was only air...
However, I still have the piping hot soup
A bit of garlic and spice
reminds me of those long steamy nights.
Olive oil drenching the bottom of the pan
and your body as I poured it upon your skin
Easy...
Only a few moments more of reminiscing.
The broth was close to perfection,
As I also start to simmer down.
One tear fell from my lashes
Splashing into your once favorite stew,
The final ingredient added.
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