My mom's kitchen isn't mine.
Her kitchen is a furious shading,
red, stewing like spaghetti sauce on the stove.
Everything is deliberately estimated,
exact.
There are no shades of dim,
just high contrast
the final product is flawlessness.
My kitchen is my grandma's kitchen
it's a mosaic
agreeable and breezy
somewhat obsolete, yet sheltered.
We don't utilize estimating mugs,
we include what feels right
sprinkles of shading twirl around
in the bowl
noticeable all around
on the dividers
we know these formulas by heart
final product isn't great
in any case, it's me
This is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Accordingly, it is difficult to figure out when to end it. But then, this is dummy text. It is not meant to be read. Period.
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