Thursday, 17 May 2007

5 Minute Oats

Pacing the floor
in the middle of this
watching the kettle
'til steam starts to hiss
A strange fascination
we have with the bliss
with nothing behind us
but one heated kiss.

Underneath an umbrella
I stand in the rain
and wait on the platform
for the 6 O'clock train
well you never quite hold me
and I rarely complain
and soaked with frustration
I walk home again.

We bid for each other
in some Chinese auction
and you got the booby
one mixed up concoction
we checked out our prizes
at a much closer range
What were we thinking
and can we exchange?

And without any memories
to dry up the tears
we long for the fire
and the comfort of years
but it's just one more lesson,
a good one we learned.
the slow-cooker is better
and we're less often burned.

And then as I ponder
you come in the door
I smile at your tired eyes
and looking for more
I stir up the pot
and you take off your Totes
and you ask me to make
you some 5-Minute Oats.

"I made em already"~
to warm up your cockles
the seat of your heart
and without the debacles
I sensed that the cold rain
would stir the desire
so I whipped up a batch
and rekindled the fire.

And inspite of my rambling
it seems rather clear
that 5-Minute oats
can mean something more dear
it's that person whose waiting
in your kitchen above
stirring 5 Minute oats
into passionate love.

2 comments:

Josie said...

Loved the imagery! Such a homey, comforting feel... it warmed me just to read it!

Gina said...

Thanks, Josie.

the beginning came to me while boiling water with only the range hood light on. It was a dark and dreary outside, raining, and i was thinking about simple pleasures like ummmm....hot oatmeal, the newly remodeled Walmart for throw pillows and love.

May 18, 2007 8:24 AM