The soft warm cooked rice
Or freshly baked homemade bread slice,
When you are around in simple days tastes like
The staple I need every morning and night.
The leftovers from too long holidays.
They’re so cold, I don’t know how to say.
Everything is dry, and dull, and all grey
Whenever you have to go away.
The meal with someone I dislike.
Even though, I know its high price,
It’s too hard to swallow every bite.
The taste is same as our angry fights.
And the hot soup in the day of cold weather
Is the purest form of pleasure.
When I look in your eyes, I sense your tender
Love and care, and something forever.
# Daily Prompt: Original