R.A.D. Stainforth rustles up an omelette...
They tumble
with
a flick of the wrist,
strut
bulbous, sensitive.
A
strand of hair falls over my face,
eyes
shut, I lose equilibrium,
whisk
fork-wild.
Body
language is the key
to
make it delicious,
it
doesn't matter
if
the shell breaks free.
Accept
texture,
savor
the mystery ―
it
might just be
a
bit of random nails,
luxurious
in the process.
tk/September 2012
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image: Breakfast, 1921, Fernand Leger
