For Two

It is kind of difficult
For her to cook for two.
For four five ten twenty
It is just vague head count
In her vague head.
To cook for one
She has practised all life.
But for two, it has to be just right
For some strange reason.
For this one other
Definite person
In her definite head
No wild guesses will do
No culinary risks.
Hoping she and her food
Are called perfection
In its secret realm,
She sets the table
And eats alone.