Perhaps I am the seasoning of your
bread on the plate.
You drizzle me on and  I make the day
better.
Once you are gone like the bread eaten
alive
I am pushed back to the corner of the
table
in my glass jar kept away from
all.
So does this mean I am just an
entertaining
portion of the meal?
All you want from me is
my beauty to walk beside
in the streets of the village?
Live the day with or without
me.
You are not a dish to be eaten
and I am not your
olive oil.
I may not run all over you but
I am not living alone in a
jar.