I ran out of vanilla beans & rock sugar.

The porcelain bowls were left with this peculiar mush of bitterness.
An odd sharpness shuddering down into my empty stomach.
My fingers slipped:
I added a pinch too much of regret
&
a tablespoon
of sadness.

One day, airy concoctions that taste like summer memories will flit in and out of the kitchen window.

It's okay, & maybe if I am lucky someone's knee will playfully bump against mine.
Flour on noses & cheeks.

One day.