I’m spilled between writing a poem and Fixing dinner. My organic drive to feed myself Commands me, with great urgency, To prepare tinola. So I dress the chicken, Cut it into parts, Sauté garlic, onion and ginger In a pan. I slice papaya in dices, Pick on chili leaves, Letting the broth boil meanwhile. But something gets in the way: You fill my mind, And I dish out the choicest words To brew my specialty. I grab the pen, Then begin to pitch ingredients Of the ode in paper. A little and soon, I’m through cooking up This poem For the spice of my life. Here I serve, Have a taste.
comparative literature major from the state university, boyish-looking, 5'5", slim, brown, clean-cut, clear-faced, originally from nueva ecija and tarlac, hilarious, smart, flirtatious, literary-inclined, temperamental,in the brink of OC-ness. "'di ba, ako'y tao lang na nadadarang at natutukso rin...?" drop me a line at yahoo messenger: email@example.com; email: firstname.lastname@example.org;
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