I gave you my heart.

In my mind,
I saw it as a small, fragile thing.
Held it out gently
offering
as one might a new-born child.

You saw it differently.

Took it, eyes gleaming,
immediately snapped an invisible stem.
Stripped off glaucous-green leaves,
set it enthusiastically
to bubbling-steam.
You thought it would make a splendid appetizer,
somewhat thistly in appearance, yes
but wonderfully nutritious, a gourmet feast,
a delicious inflorescence.

When cooked,
you scooped from pot,
dressed efficiently as is your wont,
salt and peppered with just a touch
of extra virgin
and balsamic vinegar
then sensually plucked and lay each involucral* bract
delicate on your tongue,
brought lips and teeth together,
mangle-squeezed out the flesh,
closed your eyes
and sucked back sumptuousness.

*The edible portions of the artichoke, known as the "heart"; the mass of immature florets in the center of the bud is called the "choke" or beard.

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UNVpnw9tP8c/Tyt-wQJ68CI/AAAAAAAAARs/gKAoqGlvhLI/s320/heart.jpg