kaya toast
she wants to learn the recipe of kaya toast
to make one for herself each morning

just like how it should be.
she thinks desire has built a home in her:

a mouth wanting of warmth,
swallowing soft peeled love.

but now she burns toast on the griddle
and watches buttered yellow seep into dull green char

as the cracking stovetop signals the start of a day.
a life led by broken minutes, open bruised eyes.

but by the day’s end, a pressed napkin;
a plate of plain bread savoured sweet. 

she brushes crumbs into the sink, thinks:
this is the only best thing she can give herself.

she tries to be good
to get it right.