Dinner for Two

Smoking a cigarette and Piece of Cake

The cake I made is in pieces.

A better attempt than the first.

The first time, I set off the smoke detector.

Tonight was the second.

With a dinner for two minus one.

I left the asparagus in for ten minutes too long.

Too long you’ve been gone, but it’s only been two weeks.

Now I’m left with the leftovers of a smoke filled apartment, one cigarette, one whole cake

All to myself, and a dinner for two.

The smell of smoke stains your room,

But it’ll be gone by the time you get back.

Just like the cigarettes, the cake, and the dinner I made for you.