I love the rich smell of an oven after grilling tomato, when the fan stops and you swim in the warmth.
The crispy baked cuts of potato; they sizzle your mouth with oil.
The salt that grabs your lips and kisses them, a whiltering kiss.
Your tongue is sprinkled in oregano, and rosemary.
You bring those starchy rounds through the apple sauce, the cranberry sauce, painting a face on the crumbed plate, that replicates the wide simper across your stubborn face.
No comments:
Post a Comment