We know each other strikingly well and often indulge one another’s fancies.
She nibbles at my innards and begins making something similar to stew. I set the table, ready the wine and prepare bread.
Yet again, a grand feast provided by my sincerest friend, courtesy of my own body.
The new candles melt their way down to nonexistent stubs as she and I cover ground that has already been covered.
She listens and offers advice, taking her time with the meal. I couldn’t possibly stand one more bite, but I take a mouthful and mutter how tender the meat is and compulsively swallow.
Talking very little of herself, I feel propelled to keep the conversation alive, going.
There is nothing else to be said, the meal is finished, and the wine bottle sits discarded with its cork by its side like a master and its old feeble dog.
I begin clearing the dishes and hear the front door close quietly, the carpet nearly muting her exit completely.
Like that she is gone and without calling, she’ll show up once more unexpectedly,
announcing her arrival by whipping together a lavish meal with only the freshest ingredients.