Raw
A poem

Anniversary Dinner — 42 Years.
Rare. Different. Delicious.
Decades.
Spicy, like tonight’s tuna, puddled in a splash of tzatziki sauce.
Blackened. Burned, just slightly, around the edges.
Poké? No, more like one long, continuous joust
— with My Tastebuds
and
Our Emotions
— And with Everything Else that Comes Close to Good.
For Me. For You, For Us.
Our Relationship. And my Choice.
Raw, but cooked nicely.
Distinctive. Luscious. Well-seasoned.
Rich.
