A warm slice of pie
from the oven,
cinnamon apple,
with a scoop of french
vanilla ice cream,
cold and round, set
upon the piece with
crumbled crust. Quick
to melt at the soft
edges. The silver fork
shining on the plate,
a white linen napkin.
A cup of tea. You've
done it all, haven't you.
Smug in the doorway,
your arms folded, a
cat like smile upon your
pretty face. I believe
that I'll stay, if you'll
have me. I think it's
what I need.
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