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.

The shallow breaths & hot air.

We will need it later.

Pepper the words & syllables of anger over 'I want you' s.

Let all the unintentional bitterness settle and rest in chipped porcelain bowls.

We can wash it away with soapy bubbles.

P.S Remember oven mittens over hands that have already been burned.