Ode to a Soft-Boiled Egg

Cozy were our Sunday evenings when, for dinner
We took pleasure in a soft-boiled egg, delicate and soft,
Sitting atop a bed of greens, milled pepper,
Extra virgin olive oil and a pinch of sea salt.

We shared private smiles that formed about our faces
As we cut gently into the tender white,
Smiles that beamed the golden glow of our romantic love
And the warm runny yolk like laces.

Alas! From dawn to dark, in early bright,
My beloved departed, flew away in a hurry like a dove.
Amidst bewilderment and abandonment,
Comfort came slowly at meal times.

The coddled familiarity of a soft-boiled egg brought easement.
Mending took place without any passionate crimes.
The golden warmth of its center glowed brighter,
For now it beamed for only one.

I would rejoice over this humble delicacy,
So loyal and constant, my heart more joyous and lighter.
With my once-beloved long gone, I have won,
For the soft-boiled egg is to be mine in all intimacy.