closing the computer shut

i walk from my room

the dinner bell has chimed

into the kitchen, i stroll

smells of garlic, basil, onion

fill the air i saunter thru

tonight will be Italian i am sure

the long rectangular plate she uses

is brimming with garlic-cheese toasted bread

the main course some pasta

smothered with her marinara sauce

she makes large batches and refrigerates

it is better left to age she will tell you
she also does this with a red chili sauce

this will be served with a green salad

which already is waiting with toasted bread

some kinds of pasta she stuffs with cheese

some she fills with meats
some look like invading Huns surrounding sausages

there are two Chianti bottles with candles erect

one red and one pink

i know it will be followed by some Italian pastry

she has purchased on her way home

Pasticiotti, Sfogliatelle, Canoli, Seadas
a sweet mixture of cheese, honey, butter

no doubt securing the week before

all of this comes from long ago 

when i confessed i was praying our first date

would be a Lady and Tramp moment

when i took her to dinner to the Italian restaurant

a ceremony made into our own over the years
smiling, she calls it my confessional poet moment
one of those terms cryptic but speaks in volumes
love contains an idioglossia the heart commands
a library in our eyes where our souls whisper
long conversations the world never hears

we sit, bow our heads in a thankful prayer

she lifts her glass of red wine

the same toast, it never varies

to my beloved Tramp

2/18/19