We never found it crazed this blessing
of garlic between us this need to dip flowers
of broccoli, ruffled radicchio into hot baths
of cream, fleshy smashed garlic, musky
anchovies.  Never odd
to let this nectar drip and soften
sliced warm baguette soak
its yeast that grew in us.  We weren’t insane
loving the fullness in our mouths, the smell
on our clothes, this richness pulsing
through our blood bleeding
to the surface of us.  Garlic
was the sticky white magic
that held us together
on the coldest February nights.