Tent and steaming,
Golden like the sun,
Fries condense joy of life and child-like behaviours.
Fingers are sticky,
oily stains on my dress,
And a bunch of fries
Like wedding bouquet
in my hands.
Spaghetti at the end of the adventure
In the evening of a Friday
With a bitter taste.
Sneaky but friendly
The pasta wraps me and my doubts
While the future holds a secret.
Carrots dance on the window sill
Watching my spaghetti getting dressed
For the party.
I touch and feel
The richness and roughness of the pasta
That brings sun into my home.
I am starving today
For those warm afternoons running in the fields
And those silent evenings reflecting on a book.
Food for the avid mind
And food for the temperamental belly
Do not overlap
And are complementary.
I fit my point like I fit my best friends
Connected by a line
Made of interests and good food.
One after the other
They enrich and trace the days
Otherwise white and smooth
Like a sheet of paper.
On the surface of a storming ocean
Is the shakiest way of transport
Through the day.
Like a cat on a sailing boat
I always my eyes are high
To the faraway land
And my heart feels at home
Only when a fish lies in front of me.
Green Food as a panacea to the waves
And the wind
That poke me on the journey.