Wrappings


The tender grape leaf
Hides a treasure: meat and rice,
Perfectly seasoned.

Simplicity's form
Enhanced by something hidden,
Guessed at, desired.

The phylo dough baked
Golden-brown disguises its
Herbed cheese filling,

But the scent escapes
The covering, enticing
Us, innocently.

Dianthe smiles here,
Hair adorned by violets,
Draped in violet--

And as innocent--
On the verge of womanhood,
But not quite there yet.

Sensuality
Is offered in the food she
Serves us, and the drink:

Mead from sweet honey,
Wine red as young lips, and worth
The time spent waiting.



Penned by my hand on the 6th of Sarapin, in the year 389 AF.