HER VERSION
You and I together,
this time, in the kitchen.
What a historical moment,
too strange not to mention.
An awkward silence between us,
as we had just had a huge fuss.
Tension hung in the air,
while we two were standing there,
reaching for the same jar,
then pretending not to care.
Maintaining a poker face,
yet fighting each other
with our eyes,
hidden behind unspoken lies.
Acting indifferent,
but praying deep inside
for this moment to last
just a little while.
Somehow, it became
a moment to cherish,
a moment to celebrate,
a moment to remember,
if we survive
this battle together.
HIS VERSION
The receipt is clear
the amount of butter
seems to be odd.
Your hair smells vanilla,
how the chocolate scatters
and the particular order of blending.
We do not agree
this time
again.
The oven is almost ready
eggs, lightly beaten,
as I read the heat in your eyes.
I choose not to continue my argument
before you consider
to throw at me the moulds.
As the self-rising flour
starts to catch fire.
I enjoy the kitchen better
when we are both holding the same jar.