about my muse
delight melts onto his lips, soon pride prodding the corners up more with each slice of peach and each layer of margarine. he presses with delicate care for lover, self and the universe, a new gift to cradle with golden touch. this touch isn’t contagious and rather takes a high standard of mind to understand what his heart mixes in with the sugar, milk and cinnamon, let alone mirror. whether shyness or modesty, he feigns that this all is nothing, toil and rewards. but it’s everything, for him to bear his best effort in everything he does. his soul poured can be weaved into a bread, laced into a pie and drawn over the skin of my hand.
the kitchen blooms with warmth, a well worn oven and exchange of fond eyes are added encouragement not to be forgotten in the recipe. i steal glances for as long as possible, having found a long time ago that the best love persists to be felt in these pre-pastry moments, shifting feet across the tile floor and the familiar chatter of the day. he can be a clumsy boy, very tentative in his movements around others, even stumbling into walls as if they too want to hug him. such a funny boy makes you wonder if maybe his talent is by happenstance! albeit there is natural talent living in his works, his care is the forefront of the show. applause and encore every time.
a ding and a shutter; uncertainty makes an appearance across his eyes. but for anyone there through the process knows that the only thing between him and his satisfaction is maybe a jealous oven, sabotaging what should have been or even a faulty ingredient; it’s never him who is to blame because that’s his love rising under those lights! it’s definitely the saddest of days when he, who always tries his best, is hard on himself but, again, it should be noted that trying your best every day is hard! i respect and admire this bravery, even though he believes that it is nothing, it is everything to me and that i want to be.
he sets it down on the stove top for a proper inspection, fork in hand as swift as the anticipation spikes. he sifts through for a perfect spot and finally indulges in the fruits of his labor. shoulders and neck loosen up as he nods in approvement. in the relief of it all, this victory elicits a giggle as he offers out a share of his work to me. as it already is a task enough to describe this stunning boy, I assure myself that i am forgiven that i can’t describe his pastries as well as i want, besides the obvious: they are as soft and as warm as him.
i fall in love each time that he bakes with these hands and eyes and heart. not only because of how it never gets old to taste home over and over again but simply because i think, for now, i get a glimpse of him celebrating a pride i feel every day waking up to his voice. rob is a tentative shy boy who wants to spread the love that he deserves and one day he will see that he does just that. he is in every ounce of the love he offers me and i don’t know what i’d do without his persistence to be what i need and want. he is my favorite baker and i would give up anything in the world if it meant i got to see the glimmer in his eyes tasting another arrival fresh from the oven, tended to by his touch.
