Hunger

She dances with the stove when she cooks, she waltzes as she creates
and tastes
and revises, twirling through
the kitchen and adding some basil, some oregano
until I can taste it
she adds this and that, closing her eyes when she tests
her hypotheses
The kitchen spins around her making me dizzy
but I can’t take my eyes
away from her form, glued to the spot
where she creates art and passion and hunger.

We dine for hours and hours.