LIKE AN INCENSE

Beyond the plate of fries
rest my heartbeats
switching between yellow dim
and romance in me
for the lady in maroon
smiling at me:
the soup warmed
our talks of affection
that bloomed like tulips
plucked from serene fields
from the remotest of greens.
I long for the sanity of madness
that grasps my poem's lengths
despite protests by men to pen
not my words warmest...
...and that fragrance of fries
brought shyness out of nowhere,
placed it like an incense
in the middle of our breaths!