I miss your breathing–awakens
me and my senses.
No need for artificial snoozing
when we are close to smooching.
While our only sprout extends
another round of catnaps:
eggs, garlic and rice goes frying–
I am your servant, my darling.
But there's one dough–
it perks up your mornings, I know.
Fluffy and soft baked lumps
scoured from the remotest boroughs.
Bagel, baguette, croissants?
Nah, twenty pesos of heavenly delights–
no wonder you're blooming.
I miss you, tabachinghing.
No comments:
Post a Comment