Please enjoy the Raisin Sauvage
I flambéed lovingly with thoughts of you
and brandy. How the sun leaps into
your glass of port, as if chasing itself
down a crooked alleyway in Lisbon!
You are a fine crumpet, and I long
to butter you — have I said too much?
Have I offended, even while basting
this leg of lamb? Please admire
the river stones of my hearth,
the fire, how it suggests
heated exchanges in sheets
of Supima. Later, I will drive you
over the bridge and back, my love,
one bridge and then another.