Interestingly enough, nine years
Away from hometown of my youth
I still learn from the kitchen dance
Her slender graceful leg
Her divine hip -
The small-waisted spatula
She feels unseen rhythms of stir frying within her
and reverberates a ballon on the warm metal floor
Twirling around with her geometric lines
Her body is taken over by
Crescendos of translucent onions
Orbiting jumps in searing meat
She finally falls onto the bed of frying rice
As the lid of lights descends at perdendo
She bows, closes her eyes
And let the heavy curtain of water
Washes away her sweat
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