My lover entered homes like a premonition; draped in dark robes and floating, she left her shoes at the door.
My lover silenced rooms; like a mantra during meditation, she caused all chattering to cease.
My lover leered at the haughty; like an unexpected tempest, she doused etiquette in salt-grinding disdain.
My lover never swooned; she was unimpressed with everyone except Picasso and Brancusi.
My lover got her facts wrong; she claimed the troubadours were more powerful than royalty.
My lover sometimes appeared to go without leaving; like an earring without its backing, she dangled precariously to the edge of listening.
My lover was frisky; like a fish, she fluttered and flashed with hunger for a meal.
She ate my recipes with gusto; with joy, she bit and chewed the noodles and onions.
But tomatoes, she would not eat; she ignored the ripe red slices on her plate.
My lover’s fever grew rapidly; like a grease fire, it melted her skin, and water would not put it out.
My lover was fearless but sad; as a trapeze artist reaches forward, she let go and trusted madly that she would be caught.
My lover was redolent of burnt cookies; she was sugar and flour scorched by fire.