A Poem Written By My Dad

The warm angel hair pasta lay steaming upon my plate,
The tantalizing red sauce had been poured carefully over it,
The scent from the meal rose gently to my nostrils-
And coaxed my hunger into being.

A thick, creamy white sauce smothered her plate,
A glass of red wine stood inches from her finger's tip,
A scent of expensive perfume rose gently to my nostrils-
And coaxed my desire into being.

The rich mixtures and textures danced upon my tongue,
A wry smile pranced and traced across her lips,
The combination served to easily intoxicate-
And to ultimately replace-
The lack of a distilled aromatic substance in my glass.

She was "my drink",
She was "the straw" that stirred it,
And she is the tall glass from where my thirst will not be quenched.