How discretely she arranges her porcelain figurines in 18th century skirts; with cheeks like amorous tangerines. What if, between their thighs, beneath the lace and filigree there were sculpted just a touch of incivility? But let's discuss the weather. The crumpets are divine. She says: 'I baked them just this morning. The recipe is mine.' 'I wonder if I could,' I say, 'if I were short of yeast or flour— Could I skimp a little? Would it matter in the least?' 'On no, my dear, leave out no detail! The recipe's exact. I'll know if there's been skimping but, as mother always said—"Tact."'
Recipes | March 2nd 2023
I’m currently working on a separate poem and this one snuck its way in. Enjoy.