The anger cooks me.
I am your brew.
My mind boils
My blood simmers
My head falls.
You take a spoonful of regret
And a pinch of sadness too.
You stuck your wooden spoon
Into my heart,
And stirred your concoction.
Each word you added,
To the story that day,
Supplemented your recipe.
A carrot here, “I smoked.”
A potato there, “I liked it.”
A pea or two too, “I might do it again.”
My tears fall,
Adding season and spice,
Augmenting your ill mixture.
One thing I cannot give you,
Your stew will go without –
The meat of our relationship,
My respect.
For that’s what’s lost to you now…
