In the Kitchen

Apron sheds like a second skin,

drenched in all that’s sautéed

and simmered, the heat lingers

on my shoulders, pulls me back

like a lover's touch.

Fingers stained with spice,

each drop a slice of triumph,

as the clock's hands draw me

into the night, I see the slick

fabric gleaming under fluorescent glow—

a badge, a pride that hangs in the air.