Food of Love

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He crawls on shaking limbs to arrange himself alongside me, trembling from the force of his release. I can feel his heartbeat thudding through his ribcage, the thrum of it echoing in the veins of his arm draped over me, and I soothe the staccato rapidity with half-note hums and quarter note breaths, stroking my fingers over his skin and through his hair, softly inviting him back down to earth.

I can see the moment he stops floating on feeling and starts descending into thought. It has been a long time coming, this coming home; living together matters not where absence is concerned, and his presence – here, in this moment – is palpable.

I observe the change in his countenance with curiosity, knowing he is sifting, settling. I know him well:  There will be an outpouring, a stream-of-consciousness processing that wells from places deep within, and I am content to wait for it. But for all that I know him, I also know that we are venturing into new territory, and his actions now – and going forward – are weighted with a new kind of promise. And I am curious…

His eyes are glazed but from their fascinated daze I can tell that he has tumbled on to something that is holding his attention. And so I ask, invoking his name, what is going through his head.

He smiles beatifically, his face lghting with dawning joy, and he responds…

“Vegan pizza.”




Looooong pause…





And they say romance is dead.


0 thoughts on “Food of Love

  1. Mellow Curmudgeon

    Among the posts I have read so far on this blog, this one’s combination of exuberant sexuality and sly humor takes the cake — er, pie. Among the various real and imaginary foods that I can imagine being chosen as a punchline, “vegan pizza” is especially funny. Hmmm. Maybe somebody has tried using hummus in place of cheese on a pizza?


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