Angel Hair

 

By Ken Shiovitz

 

Angel hair pasta cools beneath

Sizzling probe of embracing gaze,

Past gray-blue iris thresholds that

Invite deep exploration,

Pulsing slowly in gentle caress,

A Soothing promise,

Above white linen and silver.

 

Sudden intrusion by starch-cuffed wrists,

Fingering aged bottle of Chateauneuf-Du-Pape,

By squeal of cork…..pops free,

Then sweeping assault by complex aromas,

Fading gruff voice

Bows into blur of background,

As gray-blue portals entice re-entry.

 

He will not remember layered tastes of wine,

Creamy richness of silken threads,

Spicy skin on red potatoes,

Consistency of caramel coated tiramisu,

Or even, one very large check,

But only the gray-blue swirling excursion,

Through hosts of singing angels.

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