On A Woman Making A Bread Omelette

She breaks the eggs neatly in two,
pulls her yellow sari with printed red flowers together,
reveals her waist;
her body, when she walks, sways gently like
dandelions on a bright, sunny day.

Her long, dark, and thick hair
falls on her bare back like
a fresh-water fall from a misty peak.

Her eyes protrude on her face like
the stolen Kohinoor on a crown.

She forgets something and
bites the corner of her lips coloured in red –
spices.

She is making a bread omelette for me,
and I am melting like butter
on a hot, sizzling pan.

2 thoughts on “On A Woman Making A Bread Omelette”

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