A kitchen at dawn, with light creeping in through the kisses of
Your fingers rolling the dough
In between shallow breaths.
The windows draped in sheets of soft white and spotted golden sunbeams
Embroidered with blooms of silence.
Eyes opened ajar, the neck gently tensed and fragile on the hay filled pillow.
Shades of begonias and oaky silhouettes playing catch-me on the icon wall.
I stare at life every once in a while. She looks at me in return for a smile
and then
lays the bread in the crib of my heart with a cross sculpted air
above all things
I love the smell of her
passing by through my veins
like a serendipitous breeze
bringing in memories of birth and of unfolding events,
of baking words sentenced to life
in my own demise, as I remember

I can hear the rooster crowing again from afar:
- old country echoes through haystacks dressed in dew –
wonder why I betray you, my heart,
every single time you try to tell me
that the stars I stare at night are nothing else but the kisses
she laid down on my forehead
when I was falling asleep into her breath