Nourishment

Coffee and soft skin
under hand
for breakfast.

For lunch, a good thought
well-expressed,
sweet steamed fish and rice
in a gray-white china bowl.

At dusk: figs, apples,
prosciutto, wine, a poem
on the tongue, an embrace
on the steps that lead
to the garden —

and at night,
before sleep,
drowsy agreements and
a tart left over
from the previous day’s
festivities.

Not every day,
not most days —
not even often.  But
often enough
to know what it means
to go without
contact,
without nourishment.