The faceoff between history and time
In that tradeoff of love; leaning like the tower of Pisa
On fate and making that perfect circle,
With comes with a few greasy cheesy toppings,
Into a margarita. Looking at the Pizza box
After two years, knowing that the dough
Is still sound, and yet acquiescing to that feeling
That the toppings have diminished over time.
The jagged circle is still imperfect
Just like my wife and me, who have never-ever cried
Over spilled toppings. The cheesy – the flowers
The lingerie, the gifts – are scanty pickings
And still how beautiful is a simple pizza
That never lets you go beneath the covers
On an empty tummy. We are only as Italian
As the love we make from time to time,
And yet how beautiful is the ripple
Of the Gondola, to the slow drown of Venice.
