he allows himself
a secret moment
(like an angel might)
charmed by a taste
more intense than the smell
and stutter of bacon
or popping of eggs,
rush of the kettle,
by closing his eyes
and hunkering down
every thread of attention
into the taste, the taste,
the closing of wings
over passionate breakfast
on his razzamatazling
tongue.
This is such an awesome poem. I can see him eating. "Closing his eyes and hunkering down every thread of attention","the closing of wings". You have captured the experience with your poem. I love it! :-) Look forward to more.
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