Ode to a frittata, or the love of my life
by Jenn Kucharz
You are always gone much too fast.
The tangled vines of your aroma
are much more than the sum of your parts -
I can’t inhale enough.
Why is there such pleasure in having you alone
when I can softly smile at the image of you for only I?
And you’ll share with me your sweetest tastes
your inner beauty
your collisions and harmonies
your parallel universe.
You’re done now
must wait for another day
maybe even two
(is that torture?!)
surprise of spontaneity.