its 7:45am and i'm barefoot in my grandparents kitchen freshly brewed coffee steams in my grandfather's mug as cinnamon rolls bake in the oven. the tile is cold. his smile is warm.
he lets me lick the spoon after he spreads the icing. we pretend to fight over the best roll, he lets me win.
today, i was alone in my kitchen in a different state. my coffee was mixed with bailey's and it steamed in my mug. i bake the same brand of cinnamon rolls in my oven. the tile is cold. i smile at the thought of him.
i lick the icing off the spoon out of habit, its almost too sweet. i don't have to fight for the best one.