The First Chef

Will you be the same, a smile beneath the trees, each time we separate, the dollars and the dimes, bars stacked like wheat, we sit drinking wine, now it's a morning shame, not just my feet, that walk this tired frame, No I'm not fine, come back to me, don't ask me why, what does it take, a dawn novena, to have you back again, spiky as a porcupine, your body a litany, now is the time, why can’t you remain, where the sun rises even, cars fill up their lanes, and I hear you singing.