Barramundi Rabe

Pale kale, three spears of rabe,
warm on a white stone.
A dash of bright orange sauce,
bleeding into the puree.

Under the low light,
my eyes feast hard, even before
it touches the mahogany.
I take out my snapdragon - photos
for the story.

Barramundi says hi!
I gape.
Silver knife glides through white flesh,
the tines of the fork scrape the stone.
Tastebuds tango.

I devour

Barramundi gone.
Now, chocolate cup.