we are made of dust
but I’m not so sure —
our bones, perhaps
but our spirits . . .
our spirits are made of
the stuff of sautéed garlic
the hope of rising dough
the laughter of bacon frying
the tenacity of friendship
every morsel of mortality
a reminder to remember
from love we came
and to love we shall return
Peace,
Milton
This made my day complete. Thanks, Milton.
the laughter of frying bacon… like.
perfection. that is all. thank you.
Sounds like several of your worlds colliding (combining?!) right there.
Beautiful. Thanks for this.