I have the dough proofed; I admit, the room smells a little sour at this point.
Sourdough smell is difficult to make peace with if you don't bake frequently
I make my own starter, get it to perfection in a week
It is so easy to bake knowing you, and everything feels easy
When I stretch the dough and let it rest an hour, I know I can message you
While you never respond nor care, my mind takes a full hour to recover
This, my dear, has of late become my dough resting timer
I always make big eyes at mittens; I love mittens and you know I misplace them.
But then when did I ever need them, though I had a pair of sunflowers too
I can always think of you as I pull the preheated pizza pan out of the oven
Your thoughts and longing makes this seem like holding a firefly
When the pizza or my cheese bread puffs up, I turn around to look
I always wish to see you standing close, looking over my right shoulder
You know I will gently nudge your chin with my shoulder and move you back
But often I couldn't feel your chin because of my baking towel, so now I often keep one
You know what I have not been able compensate for all of these though?
It has to be the sparkle in your eyes as I serve you my carefully baked pizzas
You would sometimes count the slices as I over fed you and complain in a gentle sigh
That I can imagine, but I miss holding you in a hug from behind as you say so.
No comments:
Post a Comment