Wild Thyme

My homemade Italian tiramisu cake.

While making it earlier

I didn’t know what’s at stake.

Later you revealed

it’s your all-time favourite dessert,

and that mine

makes you wanna rip off my blue floral skirt.

I serve you my own favourite–

wild thyme tea.

And we drink it on the porch

overlooking the sea.

I reach for the blanket

to cozy up beside you.

Remind me later to thank it.

It sweetens our rendezvous.

I hear your heartbeat,

it’s fastening,

growing stronger,

when you pretend-yawn

and stretch your arm out longer.

You whisper,

"Thank you for the tea

and the Tiramisu cake."

In your voice,

there are shakes

and shivers

and quakes.

The traces of thyme

admixed with brandy from cake

lingers in your breath–

whispers of fate.

We talk about everything,

and nothing at all.

I think I’m the one you’ve been made for.

We play a little bit of cards,

and watch half an episode of Friends.

Though this isn’t at all

where that Friday night ends.