The pace is changing
I am writing not today to tell you of a recipe. This time, it is different. I write today of poetry, which is the speaking of love. Too long in this my journal I have given all to the food, and not to the love-making! I am not making on my promise that is in the title! So this, then, is change of pace. For difference, I post a poem I have written, which is in the language of the love-making, to that which is giving me joy.
Sweet chocolate-chip cookie,
overlarge and heavy with
bittersweet chunks, my mind
leaps out this eleventh-story window
to the slightly dodgy cafe
where you sit, wrapped in cellophane, plump
as German virgin, round
as a dinner plate - alas!
Behind great iron bars, you lean
lasciviously by the cash register
while my dollar and twenty-five cents weighs
cold and useless - like the sea,
like the sea,
in my lint-lined pocket.
Sweet chocolate-chip cookie,
overlarge and heavy with
bittersweet chunks, my mind
leaps out this eleventh-story window
to the slightly dodgy cafe
where you sit, wrapped in cellophane, plump
as German virgin, round
as a dinner plate - alas!
Behind great iron bars, you lean
lasciviously by the cash register
while my dollar and twenty-five cents weighs
cold and useless - like the sea,
like the sea,
in my lint-lined pocket.