If I had a kitchen tub, 

I’d have you every night for dinner.

You chop, mix, sauté, and sear,

while I soak and simmer.

Straight from your prep shift and into my arms.

Your usual scent of onions and a hard day’s work.

Baby, leave the chef’s coat on.

and bring your knives, you always do

sharp, shiny, and delicate, just like you

cut through 

the tender plum

we watch it bleed

and you turn on the hot water for me.

my little oasis

on Avenue A sits 

just above our favorite place:

the Sunday farmer’s market.

fresh cilantro, shiitakes, radishes, limes

pour out of your canvas bag 

as I pour us some wine.

Health codes down the drain just to have this view

your focused brow loose

at my quick loud “behind!”

One kiss all day and a soapy squeeze on the fly

We talk of our days while you give me a taste

but I get so distracted by the way you plate

Fingertips gripping pomegranate seeds

my fingertips drift to where Solomon sings

One bottle down

and the bedroom calls

leave the dishes in the tub baby

tomorrow, I’ll do ‘em all