The first time I met you, you were going on and on about potato salad

my complexion pallid, nose wrinkled, you didn't notice how much I hate potato salad

you shoved it into your mouth claiming you could eat buckets, gallons,

trucks filled with the stuff

a tough feat for such a small girl

my god, the way you talked about potato salad

twenty minutes later, half of your plate of potato salad uneaten,

 you sat back in your chair, stared at the plate before you and said

"I can't eat all this."

I laughed as you offered it to me, brown eyes wide and oblivious

to my admiration 

I ate all that potato salad for you and 

I really HATE potato salad

But this is how it is, how it's been since then

I take anything you offer me because it's been touched by you 

and you don't have a clue how enamoured I am by your nose-

the long bridge

and your chin-

the haughty prince, it demands worship

I kept a picture of you as my bookmark until even I was alarmed by this 

stark reality of wanting,

the furnace of desire

the burning fire 

because I was never one for central heating and 

I am thinking of a certain September

and potato salad and the beginning 

and the ringing of mallets on bell covered hearts

darling, you struck a chord I'd never heard before 

the way you talked about potato salad

wishing I could love anything

that much

now I know what it feels like

you say that I have window panes for fingertips

that you can see right through my touch

and I know that this is your way of clutching at safety

because it is safer to love the dish, the carefully crafted meal

than it is to love the pulse,

the bleeding heart between your teeth

I want to be your potato salad-

and that's the weirdest pickup line I've ever used 

but it's the truth 

I'd eat a U-Haul of potato salad 

if it meant I'd be  with you