"You made me spaghetti with jar sauce,
adding it straight to the drained pasta,
no separate pot to warm the clotted paste,
stirring it round, borrowing heat from sticky noodles,
served with a beer and paper napkin, the best meal
I’d eaten in months, chipped plate on a TV tray
and I would not have traded that night
for a cream carrot bisque or a flute of champagne.
the slender strands slurped, praying specks of seasoning
missed the bulls eyes between my teeth, and I loved
the way our feet touched on the floor as we clanked
silverware and celebrated the silence,
the exhale of compatibility."
— Carly Taylor, “The Moment Before We Kiss” (via fleurishes)