30 Poems: Day Ten.


Food and love. They go together. And I am not just talking whipped cream. Both primal, both wonderful, both pleasures we hate to lose.

And the tomato. In Italian “pomodoro”: apple of love.


The loneliness of being with you

cuts through my soul

like a French chef’s knife

through a plump, ripe, Roma.

Round, juicy, slices of my being

are tossed into the salad of

your distress. 

Drizzled with a little olive oil.

Had you just let it grow on the vine

Watered it. Fed it. Weeded around it.

It would eventually have fallen,

naturally and fully-ripened,

into your lap.


3 thoughts on “30 Poems: Day Ten.

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