An after-dinner treat? Okay, a mint -
atop a pound of pasta in the gut.
I pull it from my pocket, blow the lint -
I pop it in my mouth; my lips re-shut.
The garlic scent is put right in its place.
I cannot let it have another chance.
An opened mouth would be a true disgrace.
What I will sacrifice for this romance!
The onion, just as fierce as garlic is -
sleeps well with fish, I'm thankful for the tac.
I need to taste that sausage which is his.
The mint prepared my mouth for that attack.
My mouth, a mint, some pepperoni bliss -
it's "privacy" since Guido’s never kiss.

BOB BOSTON is hoping this is the right email for submissions. He is new to writing poetry as well as to submitting for publication. He has no previous credits to speak on (but now has a pretty good one!)