S is for _____, with a Line from Keats
By JoAnna Novak
Surely I must be in love
to make sabayon.
To unshelf Larousse
Gastronomique,
page to Z
for zabaglione,
reassure myself
marsala is customary,
to ask eggs
and brown sugar
to be enough.
Surely I want you
to eat arrantly
at your midnight
easel, oils,
my crumbs,
on your long
fingers. Surely
I am peaky,
beat for minutes,
requiring machine
power to achieve
such volume.
All to be folded
with cocoa
and salt,
piped—pleasure
never is at home.
Source: Poetry (April 2026)