Unfinished poem about dining

In the beginning there was soup

And it turned into a poem

This is how it goes

First things first

We quench our daily thirst

With whatever makes us merry:

Ice cubes, bubbles and a juniper berry

Then we talk but not quite yet

The table is already set

And words may finally start flowing

He is talking to her

And, yes, she is glowing

But other guests not so much

Too far, too scared to touch

Each other’s minds or souls or hearts

So small talk only, the weather and prices  

And now dinner is served and starts

With soup and salt and maybe some spices

Bread and butter(fly) goes around it like flies

And everyone smiles and tries to be nice.

Unfinished due to poetic confusion and exhaustion