meal planning
Before breakfast, my dear, we perfected,
after years of affection, neglected,
fear and frustration detected—
our game.
After sense of ourselves, we protected,
while scrambling the omelet, suspected,
the eggs that we broke were infected,
with blame.
During luncheon, my dear, we dissected,
days of salad with care, roots subjected,
dressed in acid, as usual convected,
more flame.
Day nearly gone, now aspected,
like an omen, frustration reflected,
against walls made of fear, we erected—
this frame.
By dinner, my dear, we confected,
new marrow, from old bones resected—
the pangs of their hold are deflected,
now tame.
Finally, bedtime, we lie there complected,
our bodies at bellies connected,
fed by each other, repast corrected,
No shame.
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