His eyes sparkled,
a wide grin folding paper thus and so,
a square becoming a tent guarding the noodles
steaming in the middle.
Was it his grin or his eyes
that drew you in?
Deft hands
held an open heart
closed to your thoughts
of wishing you were young.
It was the glow surrounding him
that drew you in.
At home, alone,
you undid what he had done,
savoring wide noodles,
limp with just enough black pepper
to transport you to another realm,
a place where he will laugh each day,
fluff the pillows as he makes the bed,
stir the embers that burn within,
then draw you in.
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