Speak with your face and fingertips.
Louder than words uttered.
Understated is better than stated.
And, one can tell many things about another one, by how they treat a vegetable.
The way they wash, the knife they choose and how they slice.
Dice thrown; and, the dye cast.
What music shall I choose to play for this death.
Even vegans must confess life feeds on life feeds on life.
Does that empurpled onion reduce you
To tears?
A seasoned cast iron skillet does not need soap.
Brushed with bristles.
Oiled up and then left alone.
A serrated saw to slice tomatoes to preserve their fleshly consistency.
A fat, straight blade to make onions pay for arrogance.
Slapping herbs in the face, to conjure the aromatic gift.
The coolness of cilantro is a hipster’s voice you desire to hear but also wish would shush.
Tasting whilst you bring demise because you wilt not be caught up in surprise
At what you create.
And, should you tell me, “I do not cook.”
I wonder, “Why does fear of failure have you so shook?”
Prostrate before a pinch of sea salt.
The kindly courtesan whom doth correct all.
Pray for the favorable countenance of a full garlic clove.
This is enclave.
WrittenCasey 