Torta

My mother once told me that
if I wanted to keep love,
I should know how to prepare it.
I didn't know then how should I prepare
something as special and as appetizing
as love.

Not until I learned to tie
my combat boots
and travel southbound 70.5 kilometers
away from my comfort zone.
I met the secret at Chitang's.

I learned that if I wanted it to stay longer,
I should not force it to be ready
in a split second.
I must learn how to wait.
I must learn how to start a fire just
by rubbing pieces of aching driftwood.

The experts told me,
I should bake it using a hurno.
Baking it following the traditional way,
though long and tasking,
is always better than the
fast and contemporary one.

I, too, should be careful of its temperature.
Leaving it too hot may burn it,
leaving it too low may leave it -
coarse, dense and heavy.
Incapable of rising in its own.
Moderation is necessary for it to grow.

I might consider pouring some tuba into it too.
Not only to make it last longer
but also to balance its taste.
I must understand;
it's not suppose to be too sweet
or too sour.

If I want it special,
then I should make it bigger than the ones
I've seen in grocery stores.
Top it with the sweet roughness of time,
sprinkle it with some creamy poems,
serve it with a hot sikwate,
and let it glide freely against my tongue.

photo from http://www.imgrum.net/user/aaadrian87/619732354