I am in my kitchen preparing something I call 'Koenigsberger Klöpse'. Somehow I feel you looking over my shoulder, pushing my long hair aside smelling my perfume. Placing a soft kiss on my neck. You glance into the casserole, and let yourself emerge in to my world of spicing the dish. "Hmm, is that German cooking?" I hear you ask, whispering the words softly in my ear. It seems unreal, but I'm in your kitchen.
I am finished with the preparation; a white sauce, with capers, lemon juice, black pepper and all season spices. A dash of 'créme culinaire' enhancing the dish. I gently put the meatballs in to the sauce. Now it just has to simmer.
Rice is already steaming its Basmati aroma trough the room. Though a rather exotic rice, I prefer it a lot with the dish the hint of Jasmine flavour making it tasty, though that’s not traditional. I've prepared a cucumber salad with a chive dressing to go with the dish. It's a nice combination, refreshing. The spices are enveloping us, and our nostrils are now being filled with the sweet aroma rising from the oven where my almond cake is baking.
You give me your radiant smile, my sweet reward for having made an almond cake. There is nothing as warm as your smile.
I leave the kitchen. Still, I feel your shadow moving along with me. I enter my bedroom, I think…
Yet as I open the door It's your bed standing there, big, firm, proud, in the middle of the room. The curtains now, midnight blue, not purple velvet like mine. You give me your favourite dress for me to wear, night blue silk fluently fitting me. You ask me to dance, again you move my long hair away from my face and whisper these words to me. I feel your hands gliding down my back, until you hold my waist firmly in your arm ready to tango into the night with me.Enlaced, skin to skin.
The scent of the Almond cake brings me back to my senses and makes me walk back to the kitchen. Yet still I feel that I am not in my place. It's like walking through rooms within rooms. It must be my wish, my longing for you that bring these visions to me, or perhaps that's where you want me to be, even now I can feel you touching me.
I want to lay the table, it's already been laid. Just like you do, pleasing to the eye, in the middle of the table a bunch of wild roses for joy, romantic aesthesia. You take my hand and lead me to my chair "Mademoiselle," you say, as you pull the chair for me to sit down. I kiss your cheek, love in my eyes…
Can I awake? Can this vision be real? Or will I always be seeing...
Rooms within a room…
PoeDes©
