by Samuel De Lemos

Certain spices remind me of home

An intoxicating vibe.

Divine presence—

The glory cloud of God.

While the sh, sh, sh, sound
Of the pressure cooker
Heralded the good news,

Love is more
Spoken words,

Love is also found in the culinary peculiarities
of domestic life too.

What permeated the air,

A harmony of aromatic spices:

Cumin; wet earth, lover’s body sweat, muddy fingers, earthy pungent aroma in between moist crevices.

Saffron; delicate Andalusian flowers, moonlit dew on soft rose petals, the intoxicating smell of my lovers nipples.

Oregano; sharp dry earth, decaying flowers and forest leaves, the ecstasy of a recently worn path through the dessert ground.

Ancho Chile Peppers; chocolate river running through a tree canopied mountain, the loving
Fragrance between her thighs, the excess lime found at the bottom of a cold beer.

These are the flavors I found—
Past the entrance,
Past the turning of the knob,
As I walk in and close the door to the outside.