comfort food
prematurely wintry
the encroach of the outside world
seems barely held back
by the double glazing
our sleepy huddle
a comforting defiance
our televisual anaesthetic
lends a timeless filter
as the conversation turns
to dinner
i'm reminiscing
about the meal that
in my recollections
was the repeated absolute
of every saturday tea-time
of my childhood
when its hot, filling,
(nutritionally questionable)
embrace sustained my familial lethargy.
as you prepare it for me
i realise i am playing
a different role
in the remake
of the same scene
you made my food
but you were my comfort
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