They rarely made me cry

They rarely made me cry

There was too much

Laughter

To allow for that.

Listening to Miles Davis

Over a glass of wine,

Sipping slowly

As there would be plenty of time

Before the goose was cooked,

The way they danced

Around on the paper

The music they made

Moving together

In Harmony

One with the other

Seemed to suggest I could write more

But it was only the alcohol

In my blood,

Coiling like a serpent

A constrictor

Squeezing the good sense

Out of me.

One of these days I will wake up

To the truth of it.

Nothing good has happened

To mark the passing

I miss the eye roll

When I forgot myself

Now I can hover in space

Indefinitely

But the outcome is never near

To becoming clear.

A pan can bubble on a hotplate

For so long

The meat rendered down,

To be as tender as the night

We danced until dawn

Unchained melody on repeat.

No longer a song

I listen to

The reason is not lost on me

It is a song for two.

I never use onions

In cooking now

Green or otherwise,

They are too much to stomach

No matter how good the taste

One way or another

I believe they would make me cry