The attempt to describe what must only be felt will, at best, leave one longing for proof

It’s the warm, vintage light and the welcome white noise -eager footsteps not shuffling to greet you

There’s the “thank-you-God” eyes and the rules about kisses that apply to goodbyes and hellos

The dinner hour near, it is time to give chase to the table, for the smell of the sauce does compel 

Do you picture the taste, do you sense the good love, do you dare touch the gifts from above

I left the light on, my account is not wrong, but again, you must feel for yourself