She was the spice of his world, the unbelievably crispness to his day...she simmered in his brain like something in a skillet left on a flame...her presence filled his mind like the scent of bacon in the morning.
She completed his day. She started it as well...invading his early moments and reminding him that she was in it...maybe far, maybe near...but there.
And he lingered...let her linger...let her remain on the heat and crisp his memory...
And she would take pieces of him...break them off...save the best parts for her later. The same disassembling of a piece of bacon when you break it into pieces...
And throw it into a Bloody Mary, or an omelette. Or grab a piece and walk down the hallway crunching away.
It is the perfect food. Protein. Nourishment. Breakfast...the start of a day...the end of a hangover.
The perfect shape against a perfect plate.
A straight line against a circle.
Melting in a skillet, warming against the heat, sizzling against his mind...she sizzles in his mind...she burns...she smolders.
She warms the scent of the kitchen...she awakens him...greets him in a morning.
Mostly as he slowly chews he remembers her delicious taste and the way she smelled when she entered the room.
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