Greetings my friend, do accept my invite
to supper chez moi on this very cold night.
We’ll softly sit by a feisty flamed fire
aromas arousing our gourmet desire.
All will be light on our silvery tongues
an evening of friendship, flamboyance and fun.
Should I procure a shoulder of lamb
bred from a vigorous horny young ram-
we will chew its fibres and drink its juice
sumptuous slivers emboldening us loose
into playful palaver on philosophies
as we sweeten our Lindt with red strawberries.
Should our chat turn to the meaning of art
Georgia O’Keefe’s florals will surely spark
sensations from their succulent seed
spicing our energies – a frenzy feed.
Her Purple Petunias – food to go
inflaming our figs and escargots.
Sweet reds, clarets, olfactory smoke
our wines matured in dark rich oak
full-bodied, smooth, with earthy layers
perky peach, plum and pleasurable pears
room temperature - not too hot or cold
we’ll uncork our palates with a hint of bold.
Should all voluptuary delights not be
(one cannot always follow life’s recipe)
sweet morsels will complement our tête-à-tête
wine will warm our quickening breath.
Why a feast awaits, and together we’ll dine
don’t ramble, don’t roam, make haste to mine.
If you have any
thoughts about this poem, Sally McHugh
pleased to hear them