Love is not a cookbook
Love is not a song Love is not a poem that goes on a bit too long Love is not a thousand sweet red roses on your bed Nor a gentle early morning kiss on your forehead Love is not the Taj Mahal Or a top suite at the Ritz And it's certainly not a compilation of Bryan Adams' Greatest Hits Love's an endless buffet A culinary feat That's not always all that tasty But it's all we've got to eat. So let us try a recipe If we really must A kilogram of passion Laced with alcoholic lust A sprinkling of humour And a dash of sunny weather Plus a tablespoon of stubborness To hold it all together We'll simmer it for twenty years - Put it on our plates And realise the same stuff every day Stops tasting all that great We need some tart surprises We need some added grot. We want ice cream, we want broccoli Mushed together in the pot. Love is ecstasy and anger It's pain and foolish hope It's chucking someone overboard Then throwing them a rope. Love's a gesture, unassuming: No one notices but you So when you find that something - grab it Add it to the stew But love is not a cookbook Love is every possible meal. It's the starter, main, and pudding It's everything you feel. So what do you want to eat tonight? Give me everything you've got There isn't any recipe We'll just make it up on the spot.
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August 2016Check out some of the submissions for our first-ever monthly challenge. Have you been writing and want to post to the blog? Shoot us a message! ArchivesCategories
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