In Your Orbit
I look back on times
like the way we cooked chicken
from scratch, killing them,
plucking them, cutting
them all up in choice pieces,
then frying them in
the gold green sweet oil
pressed from our own plump olives.
That was another
lifetime, not this one.
You chose that time for us both.
I agreed of course.
Now you like the way
I love as if we were new.
It's our tenth return,
at least. I can tell
that's true from the time scented
trace you leave on things.
April 4, 2014 2:47 PM
Written in collaboration. See Irene's Orange Is A Fruit
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The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.