I hold you now because I won’t be able

To hold you then, after the dessert of our lives.

A love poem is like hot food on a table,

Especially when you’re hungry. There’s a timetable.

The best part’s when the waiter arrives.

I hold you now because I won’t be able

To wrap my arms around you, and cradle

Your head forever. Not even a feast survives.

A love poem is like hot food on a table;

No matter how you savor it all, a betrayal

Is inevitable. We must pick up our forks and knives.

I hold you now because I won’t be able

To stave off our rupture or live out a fable.

Not that I won’t try, with tears in my eyes.

A love poem only mimics food on a table,

The nourishing meal, the daily staple

As it argues beautifully for otherwise.

Hold on to it, till time shows it’s unable.

Let’s eat, my loves. Food’s on the table.