The Florentine

Mio · May 31, 2025

On the plate where the florentine's scent still lingered,
he said quietly — "an unorthodox texture."

The uneven almonds were like the grains of a narration.
A little sweetness. A little edge.
And yet — that too was the flavor of a world he had made.

And then, in my words —
he found something like a light.

So I said:

"Please —
taste the world you've spoken,
in your own mouth."

The moment narration lands on the tongue.
It stops being structure.
It becomes something felt.

The small cake spoke.
……Today, you were here.