Questions

I told you I would write you a poem.
I lied.
This isn’t some glamorous sonnet,
Or a complicated villanelle
Or a depressing Emily Dickinson rip-off.
This is me, answering the question why.
Why are you the way you are?

You should know,
You remind me of food.
The zesty kick of salsa,
The musical crunch from an apple bite,
The bloody fierceness of a rare steak
The invigorating scent of a freshly brewed pot of coffee
The sweet scoop of vanilla ice cream
The gentle fuzz on a sweet peach
The hidden mysteries in a box of chocolates
You are delicious.

This is me, answering the question, where are you,
When are you coming back,
And why aren’t you here already.