Food of Love

She sips and savors,
Holding my fermatta indefinitely
Until I cue the next stanza
of her poetry with stacatto quarter notes.
I am the director, for once.

Tonight, we play Tchaichovsky,
Handel, and even Debussy!
Tonight, it's about the classics--
We talk over truffles and Tennyson,
Baklava and Bronte.

We feed on each other's fresh ambrosia
As she lays her head on my chest,
Breathing softly, child-like,
Watching the candle flames
Cast visions of our future
Into my empty glass.