Your spiky Spock ears could intercept

alien transmissions and signal in lost kitchens

miles away. Your eye sockets could home

large meatballs and hold milk like a cereal bowl.

Your watery lips closed like an elevator

to protect drool and spit from escaping.

I can see my bushy eyebrows and squinted

eyes in the reflection of your red lipstick.

Your nose vacuumed up a gravy scented cloud

and pointed me in the right direction.

Your nose long like a jousting weapon

capable of prevailing over any kitchen contender.

I fell back to observe your juicy buns.

A trail of shedding hair floated down

like snowflakes leaving a path of stranded

spaghetti noodles that could lead us back

to the living room. The digital photo frame

on the kitchen counter revealed a seventh grade

version of you, but regretted it when you sent a flying

hand in the photo frame’s direction.

Your hands are the ones seen holding beautiful

tacos and hamburgers on fast food commercials.

Your hands are powerful  enough to unlock any

Fridge’s mysteries. Your brain is elusive enough

to choose between mustard or ketchup, chicken or pork,

cold pizza or salad. The fridge door swung open,

slamming the counter and shaking up condiments

hiding from us. The freezer door followed. The icy finish

of Rocky Road ice cream shined like 24 fresh carrots.

I extended my arm and retrieve the prize.

I ran my finger along the cardboard, carving

up the frost. I pulled  my glistening finger tip away

and reveal a smiley face.  She pressed closer

to me raising up her finger. She etched in a heart

to the right of my smiley face.

It’s not too bad falling in love twice.    

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