My half-empty pepper-shaker

I was never one for too much spice

A little salt or sugar or perhaps some butter

Occasionally some bitters in my drink

But rarely even a grain of pepper.

My palette is yet to be marred

by the heat of a ripe chili. I've nursed

my buds to welcome the naked

wonders of all cuisines, without facade.

The world called me bland, but

all the spice I needed was you.

You were the cayenne and the paprika.

I filled a pepper shaker for you.

We lived together and grew.

Had children and snored.

But slowly we drifted until we couldn't

remember what we were fighting for.

It's now silent at the dinner table.

The children have lives. They grew up kind.

I'm still not a fan of spices.

My pepper shaker is still half-full.