like spicy tenders that I don’t have to wait another twenty minutes for.
like coffee with 3 sugars and no milk or creamer because you know my favorite things are black and strong.
like food off your plate because even though it took me 45 minutes to decide on a restaurant and then another 30 to browse the menu yours looks better. it always looks better.
it tastes like Macallan 18–neat. refined and smooth. a favorite of mine, a favorite of many.
I would say your love tastes like honey but that’s a Pretty Ricky song and that’s corny. honey just doesn’t quite cut it for my honey.
your love tastes like our first kiss. it was so perfect. I was nervous too, remember? I think I bit your lip but I couldn’t help myself.
it’s like celebratory glasses of Rosé. like the last shot before last call. like nightcaps. like the drinks we left at the bar after I gave you that look.
yes, that look.
it tastes like you replacing pancakes and eggs for breakfast. we haven’t even washed our faces, but it doesn’t matter because I’ve never seen a more perfect being. my hunger for you is insatiable and it’s welcomed by the taste of reciprocity.
it tastes like my momma’s cornbread. like your grandmother’s macaroni and cheese. like the fried chicken you alwayssss request. like the tea you fought me like a toddler to drink when I could hear a developing cold all up in your voice. like the ice cream you bought when I had cramps. &even though I asked for Talenti, I ate that damn Ben & Jerry’s with a smile.
it all tastes like memories of you. like the sweetness of memories to come. like the bitterness of challenges we may face. like the satisfaction of knowing I’ll get to taste these things and more. over and over again.