The Sound of Love

You ask what love sounds like to me. I do

not use my words. I do not know its name.

Instead, I start to make a smoky brew

and pick the ripest oranges; exclaim

that they will pair so well with walnuts, fruit

and herbs; begin to gather thyme; pour chopped

assorted berries (whisking in diluted

nut purée and orange zest). On top,

the thyme. I fry and flip for berry-mince

and sunny, savory crepes—the kind you must

enjoy with lemon curd. I spread the mix

and fold the cakes. To be precise, it's just

the simple sharing of a meal, above 

all else, that is to me the sound of love