fancied himself a latin lover. & he certainly was loverly. smooth. charming. smelled wonderful. brought flowers. could dance all night & buy breakfast in the morning. problem was, his wife back home turned out to like all that about him too.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.