Little Bones

 
“Write about chicken wings,” she says,
and I laugh,
what the hell can I do with that??
 
But then that song creeps into my consciousness;  
the one about the little bones;
and the breath catches at the back of my nose
with the memory of sriracha,
And I’m transported
to much friendlier times.
 
No special occasion, just companionship,
long evenings of beer and banter,
merriment and music,
lips burning just like my heart
with the fullness of delectable moments
and mingling of souls.
 
And now I’m nostalgic
for another chance at that happy hour.
If it ever comes again
I promise I’ll savour every bite.