If love were a mustard,
I’d call it Dijon.
For they make it in France,
Tres romantique… non?
True, sometimes it’s hot,
Spicy, and bold.
Like a bright-yellow English,
The variety least cold.
And like honey mustard,
When I’m with you, life’s sweet;
Curled up beneath blankets
My hands warming your feet.
Also, love can be rough,
Like a coarsely ground Meaux.
And all the tough bits
Cause the flavor to grow.
But more often than not,
Like Dijon, our love’s smooth.
Hearty and comforting,
It warms and it soothes.
Indeed, love is a mustard,
And, I know our love’s true,
Because standing at the fridge,
All I can think of is you.
There's sitting in traffic,
ReplyDeletethere's mopping the floor;
these menial things
can become quite a chore.
Amidst all the banal things
the day has in store,
there's no one with whom I'd rather
go to the grocery store.
I thoroughly enjoyed starting my morning with this poem.
ReplyDeleteIt's been far too long.
ReplyDeleteI just read this poem a few more times and I'm loving it more with every read. Those last two lines are kicking my ass.
ReplyDelete*If I were to make one teeny tiny edit, it would be to the first line of the fourth stanza. Instead of starting on "Also," I would start on "Love." Like "Love can also be rough..."
Thanks for the tip Willy. That is actually how I had it in my first draft. I agree it is better that way, I just decided for some reason that each stanza should start with a transitional word, but that does make that line unwieldy so I shall change it back. Also I can't spell in these comments, hence all the deleted ones moments prior. I should really start using that preview button.
ReplyDeletei'm loving this poem and hungry.
ReplyDeleteTaylor I cannot get over you and your smooth, smooth love.
ReplyDeleteNothing like a genuine poem with a sense of humor about itself. You win.