Fatima's thighs

there is something particularly sublime about Bach’s cello suite 1 in G major.
there’s this one part that i just want to eat, it’s so good.
like Fatima’s thighs…
it’s the build up i think.

which reminds me, i was boiling ginger this morning, making salabat.
and i looked down at the pot of water.
the molecules of water were sitting so still.
like lake placid
then add the heat.
and then you could almost see the build up.
or i imagined i could.
i imagined the little water molecules sitting as still as they could despite the building heat.
it’s like they are sitting on their hands.
praying for it to either stop or blow.
beads of sweat form on their foreheads, as they close their eyes, scrunch up their cheeks.
and then, the heat is too much.
and… it’s a free for all.
and they run amok like fervid berserkers,
rolling around each other, dancing wildly, naked and free.
the tea bubbles up and almost spills over.
my kitchen smells spicy.
i turn off the heat.
and the feeling passes.
mind, it’s still hot.
and can still burn.
but when the heat is taken down, decorum and propriety of boundary is discernable again.

a proverbial pause.

just one flick of the wrist tho,
the heat can return.
and it doesn’t take long before the water forgets herself again.