Warm, tomato-scented steam rises like slow applause. You — a humble meatball — float cushioned by velvet red, your surface a mosaic of browned caramel and herbed flecks. Every gentle swirl is a new conversation: basil whispers, garlic hums, onion sighs. The sauce hugs you, presses cool then warm, then cool again; time here doesn’t rush, it simmers. You bob, you sink, you glide — content in the soft, saucy Jacuzzi that knows your name.
Red waves cradle me
Basil suns and garlic moons —
I bloom, slow and warm.
Probably not, but if you did… do you ever think of the bliss to be a meatball soaking in a sauce jacuzzi?