My aching feet go on as the oven alerts me that one level of my many tasks is done. Flour has just got in my hair.
With my heart full, another loaf enters the oven.
Flour and sugar and oil drape the countertops.
Your face peeks around the corner. You are delighted to see me in the kitchen.
Your voice makes my heart leap. Your eyes meet mine and invite me to swim in them, as it is every day. You pass by. My heart pounds as your footsteps draw to a silence. Must you have left so soon?
My work continues.
Your voice lingers in my mind. Return, that I may hear your voice, for it is sweet.
Footsteps thunder down the hallway, crecendoing until I see your face again. You sit and smile as I work. I can tell that you are captivated, even in my mess. Your voice waters my ears.
My heart races as it listens.
The oven sounds again, and again my hands are busy.
You stand and make your way into the kitchen.
I release the pan.
Your embrace settles on me, your lips meet my cheek. Your whisper reaches my ear, "My darling, there are many women of excellence, but you surpass them all."
So, I wish you would say.
My friend, romance me this way.
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