(Our) Last Meal

I picture our last meal together,

Something like this.

I’ve burnt the edge to your fried egg

Just the way you like it

A little crunch

And slipped some ghee around the pan,

So it skates, coats and waits to be swallowed.

And you stand beside me making my coffee the way I like it,

Strong and creamy,

Round with sugar

With bitter notes that lay on my tongue.

I picture our last meal together,

Something like this.

Your foot graces the bottom of mine

As you glide your feet under our dining room table.

My index finger surveys your little one,

A tickling sensation but you never retreat.

I picture our last meal together,

Something like this.

Crumbs stuck just left off of your lip,

Your tongue stretching

Retracting,

Back to the confines of its home.

While a drop of coffee rolls down my favourite mug,

And onto your t-shirt,

That I’ve now claimed as my own.

I picture our last meal together,

Something like this.

You drip thick molasses into an awaiting pool of tahina,

And hand me the first crust of the bread you warmed,

But you always manage to have the first bite,

Chewing secretly before me,

While your beard becomes speckled with with black gold.

Now I sit here on our dining room table,

Only one chair drawn,

Facing yours

And I picture our last meal together,

And I picture our last meal together.

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