I brought some toasts with butter, I didn't know if the sandwich was too fatty for you, she said.
The sun, the birds, the dogs, they all saw this morning routine.
Breakfast. Food. Eating. Digestion. Human endeavor.
Quiet, inside, my mind had been blown.
The taste had no taste
It had all tastes
And all those to ever imagined.
Without imported herbs
Without himalayan salt
Without a french cuisine
Without a gastronomical sense of style -
The breadcrumbs amazed, as crunchy as three thousand galaxies
The butter drove through, the endless cloudy sea
The bologna, the sticky rosed garden, glued all flowers of the world
The tangerine, citric and contained, held all the honey in the universe.
Perhaps,
I was the only one
The one who could see it,
And I was
Guilty
Myself
Personally
To eat
All of that
To commit such a crime
Almost a heresy
I'd become a sinner
I couldn't.
I wanted to
Hold that tray
All that food
And just
Freeze
Cement
Calcify
That little piece of heaven
Pour melted gold and,
More than a medal,
Make it a statue
For care
For kindness
For liberty
For truth
For love.