Comida is Spanish for food,

I would’ve thought it meant love.

You’re there when I’m sad,

My confident when I’m glad.

Comfort is in your name.

At either 1am or 3pm,

You’re there just the same.

You smell of sweet and so so salty.

Your names taste spicy and tart

and fresh baked bread

Wrapped around my tongue.

I would see you in the most elegant porcelain dress

Or the trashy tin from the shores of Costa Vida,

Our relationship is stronger than image.

I’m there

whether you’re feeling fatty. Those nights let’s just door dash.

Or wether your skin has the healthy sheen of chlorophyll.

Ranch fixes everything. Much like duct-tape.

Our bond is thicker than broccoli.

If you’re feeling chicken

I’ll bring the chick-fil-a sauce.

Let’s not fight. Let’s get Chinese

You know my favorite form of your fury is kung fu anyhow.

Mexican is always a classic

Even if your tortilla is a little corn-y

American with you is always sweet

And got me feelin free.

I guess

What I’m trying to say is,

I comida you,

Food.