"I'm sorry," Her eyes well with tears. A thin line of sweat beads across her forehead, and her face is just an expression of pure despair. I peek over her thin shoulder and frown.
The once silver pot is blackened with soot, and it's contents are a hard, abominable mass of something unidentified.
"I really tried, I did." Her voice cracks.
I chuckle and slip my arms around her waist. She leans back into me, and I smile into her neck.
"It's okay, I got this." I whisper softly, kissing her jawline. "I'm a better cook anyway."
I can feel her relax, and her face lights up with a brilliant smile. Her hair is still in it's tight bun from practice, and I reach up and gently tug at the band. "You should take your hair down. It looks sexier that way."
She knocks my hand away, blushing. "Okay," she mumbles, relentlessly yanking her hair out of the tie. It falls to her shoulders, as graceful as the rest of her. "Better?" She asks with a sheepish grin. I kiss her forehead and nod.
"Now, go sit down. I'll only be a few minutes." I say, stepping away from her. She flutters off as I dump the contents of the burnt pot into the trash. I wrinkle my nose at the smell.
I don't bother washing the pot, I decide to just get a new one. As I fill it with water I smile to myself.
And I think of her.
YOU ARE READING
BURN (Wattys2015?)
Poetry"Poetry...is thoughts that breathe and words that burn."--Thomas Gray "Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." --Leonard Cohen Poems on the tough stuff in life. Poems on the crazy good stuff in li...
