Hung in the air
deciding whether to strike me
or not.

My chili cheese puffs, smouldered
on the stove,
while she looked through the drawer
for knives, looking for the sharpest tool
in her shed,

Cooking a meal for her
an art form, without an equal
tomato juice on my lapel
made the neighbors fear blood
while I only savored the flavor
of last night’s dinner,

While she began
tossing sharp implements
while I behind
the refrigerator door
cowered,
I feared for an end
an end to our relationship

while the cucumber dip
still hung in the air,

And I?
I desired her hands,
buttered with chili mayo
running along my taste buds
once again

Oh, how I loved to be in the kitchen
with her

When her knives were sharp enough
to capture my attention…

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