I let you seat in a corner of the chambers of my heart,
love in the short-run seemed to fly without wings.

Now, looking into the depths of your famished soul mirrored by promising doe-like eyes,
the long-run is certain.

Then and only then,
does “I love you” to me cease to be mere organized english letters.
It becomes the native spice to a forgotten recipe,
more so when blended with truth and heated by action;
It is soul food.