The drowning smell of liquid diamonds on granny smith apple trees, before nature's tantrum, time-warps me shoulder-length to my dancing stepfather in our kitchenette, boiling potatoes, diced onions, and pickled pig's feet on a sugar and olive oil encrusted stove that whistled so loudly its how I imagined a lobster's cry sounding when roasting on the surface of the sun just before a supernova. With a cookbook he was Gordon Ramsey, after a drink, Edward Hyde.
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I love the rhythm of this: "time-warps/ me shoulder-length to my dancing stepfather in our/ kitchenette"
Cookery poetry with a splash of rain. This was full of flavour and atmosphere. Granny Smiths, potatoes and onions. Very visual!