There was a Chicken Pot Roast on the kitchen’s oven. The freshly cooked delicacy smelt like a rose in the direct heat. Parsley labeled the beauty, sliding down the cover of a chicken held within the pot. The smell radiated aromatically throughout the entire capsule of the small visual. A honey gold pot steamed in an insatiable wait to be consumed by its lovely artisan.
The room over contained a beautiful painted mural dedicated to a principled boy. A boy dedicated to gold and roses unknown to him. Blue, Red, Yellow. And Green concealed the grey scaled wall. Encapsulated in the mural – love.
To the room abroad, treasure sat in. Two fork-roaded lovers held each other on the bed, artisans of the crafts graded by an outer hand, dedicated to each other. A smell of thyme captured the nature of the nose. Paint rubbed onto the boy’s shirt as a small, stuttered laugh took shape in the girl’s mouth.
“Did you make that yourself?”
“I did.”
The couple responded to each other in crippled mannerisms that gave a detail no artisan could paint. Its visage encrypted two halves of a single whole. Its body crept to itself, shaping around another.
“We need to go eat…”
“You hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I don’t hate you either.”
