'Dish of the Day'
Had I considered the ‘dish of the day?’ she asks.
Had I, just! What I’d really like, is her – dripping wet
from a shower...her feet pad about on my kitchen floor –
toenails painted Hollywood Red...
To watch her make a cup of coffee
in a whisper of a kimono...
write a poem...pen between her lips
as she waits for inspiration, and
god bless that delicious, tiny gap
twixt her two front teeth.
Hear her sing when no one’s listening,
just because she can...
To join her in a glass of brandy; watch her hands
fondle the glass – stand with her on the top of a mountain
we’d climbed...watch fern fronds
unfurl with her.
Have her sob into her pillow when she watches
‘Ghost’ for the umpteenth time, then dry
those delicious eyes of ambergris
and water hyacinths.
Be with her on some windward shore...her skin
all stars and crying gulls, as her body shone
with the strange light of seabirds.
But what I’d like the most
is to get inside her head...know
of what she dreams...Her last thought
before sleeping and the first when she wakes.
“It’s Toad in the Hole...in case you were wondering;
the 'dish of the day', I mean.
Can I take that smile as a 'Yes', sir?”
“That’s a peach of a name! How could I resist?
Just one thing though. Do you happen to take