If I were a poet I would tell you I love you in a sonnet for the generations.
I would weave a world of words to tell you how beautiful you are to me.
With the stroke of a pen I would describe you as seen through my eyes.
Each turn of a phrase would tell of your charm and your smarts,
each new line would speak to your strength and your great accomplishments.
If I knew the secrets of verse I would use them to tell you not to be afraid of love.
I would woo you slowly, lovingly, at a pace designed for comfort.
I would weave a web, not sticky so as to trap you, but strong enough to catch you if you fall.
I would teach you that a moment and a forever are not so very different in the end,
and that it is our regrets that ultimately define whom we have become.
If I could wield the power of words I would tell you how I love to be alone, learning me,
but how I long to be alone with you, how I am craving a separate kind of togetherness.
I would paint a picture of the silent beauty of how being alone is amplified when we are together.
I would show you a future with more comfort than fear, more peace than frenzy.
One slow letter at a time, I would show you all that is and how much more is yet to be.
If only I were a poet.
Of course, I am not a wordsmith. The sweet caress of poetry and verse is not my mother tongue.
What I am is a chef, more savory than sweet, more here now and gone later than awaiting the generations.
I am a tasty treat, a succulent morsel, a melts in your mouth and not in your hand kind of woman,
I am the all that you want but more then you can handle meal of the holidays, the perfect prix fixe.
I am the memory maker, the deal breaker, the perfect finish to the perfect day.
I am the awesome sauce, the chocolate, the wine you drink on your hilly vista in San Fran.
I am the taste of the world that I have traveled, of the friends I made as I went,
I am the mealtime laughter of family and the full contentment of the Sunday afternoon game.
Slow cooked or deep fried, perfect whip or carmelized, main course or bite size, seconds or thirds,
I know the world of food like I know my own heart and I readily embrace them both.
I know who I am.
A good meal, like a good woman, is not meant for the back burner, no matter how worthwhile the wait.
Important note – this piece of poetry was a dual effort between myself and a good friend who needed a ghostwriter to put words to her heart. The ideas are hers, the framing is mine. She is the owner of this work, but graciously gave me permission to post it as a special Valentine’s Day present to all my lady friends caught in the middle. We love you ladies. Love, Kay & Nay.