My poem about meeting up with an old friend

Tonight, I showed up late and my mom is going to bed early because we're driving to Spokane tomorrow for Jan's funeral. And since I've been meaning to write a poem about an old friend, why not tonight?

It feels funny to work outside of a form. I'll give myself one.

The sixth love language is food
My best friend from college Joyce and I have spent the last 14 years living in separate cities. We have visited each other often. The longest span between times just ended with my recent trip to San Francisco, a few weeks before her son turns two. We have gobs of funny stories about eating and meals that only arise out of cohabitating during a singularly unique phase of life. This poem references merely four of them. The title alludes to a book called The 5 Love Languages.

She remembered I like cantaloupe
and bought me one
it was waiting on the shining kitchen counter
and she chopped it up the next day
juicy evenly-sized bites of nostalgia

I remembered she likes Turkish Delight
and got her a box
it joined the melon next to the stove
and sat there for three days
supple powdered squares of friendship

We both like red meat and schlag
and went to House of Prime Rib
it served one thing in four thicknesses
and we ordered the same cut medium well
rich buttery fullness of understanding