Lifting swollen,

Steaming bags of Basmati,

From a steam-filled pan,

She glances nervously around,

As if to say,

" I hope this works out".

I catch her eye.

She's chosen chicken,

To brown,

To drench,

In Korma sauce.

At home,

It was always Quorn.

She asks,"Do you want a drink?"

Just as I'm losing myself,

In warm,doughy n...

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