The Conversation
“I love you.” He mumbled into his plate.
“You need me, and need is often a form of love. So, I love you back.”
He laughed, sending a quiver through his portly belly.
“You Jest with me, but I’ll forgive you. Your cinnamon scent is driving me crazy.” He supplied, with yearning in his eyes.
“Your homage is flattering, but flattery alone will get you nowhere.”
“Oh!” He replied, with a look of reverence on his plump-cheeked face, “indulge me, will you? You’re delightful and delicate, a joy to behold.”
“Your adoration makes me blush, but still I must warn you, I must warn you. It’s only right.”
“Don’t be inane, I’m aware of the perils. My girth will attest to that. I’m smitten and yours to command.” His generous lips pursed while, for just a moment, he considered the danger.
“You tell me that I should be careful, not take you at face value, but still, my appetite for you is unquenchable. You have me as I have you. A partnership of fate.
“I’m obliged to give you the facts. I’m obliged. Your health should be your concern and you should apply yourself to its demands.”
“Health is like wealth, the more you invest, the better the return.” He shook with mirth and his jowls swayed in time to his words.
“Are you saving yourself for something better?” He quipped
But, he found no answer to his bitter inquiry.
He noticed the silence. All was quiet.
“So?” He proffered into the abyss, “are we a team?”
The void swallowed his words.
“You’re not going to answer me are you?” He lifted his fork. He sat quite still. He looked at the pastry on his plate and a sweat broke on his brow.
“Sir, sir! Is something wrong?” The waitress’s distressed face interrupted his reverie.
He looked at her. He looked down at his plate. He swallowed hard. His exhaustion, critical.
“Dear girl. Oh dear!” He offered with tears on his cheeks.
“Do you think you could bring me a salad, and take these cinnamon rolls away from my eyes?”