the fine art of aspic

covered with nosegays 

of blue hydrangeas, 

freesia and white roses, 

stargazers take the center.

a sweet lavender spike

in the clear smooth aspic...

gently wraps

currants and blackberries;

contain, swallow, and subdue

bubbly champagne.

flowery aspic mixes with the smell

of quenching oil,

twisting iron in arms

forged above the fire,

our trellis is taking shape...

Fleur de Lis on the gate

suspended for one brief moment, 

a shared gelatinous stage.

everything in aspic,

aspic and ambrosia…

elixir of life, delightful immortality.

venom to antivenom in the horse,

pressures milk the fang,

sword in the mouth of the asp

share a similar mansuetude,

picking tomatoes and slicing olives, 

moments when eyes never nictate.

savoring the fortuitous mistakes

licking a finger covered in sweet velouté.                                                                                    

hot cold. chaud fraud.  paradoxical

form, the mold takes the shape

of the copper fish, savory aspic

served on the iron platter; 

olive for the eye that never blinks.