I crack myself open and pour out walnuts and honey.

In the mornings I overflow with sugar and lemon.

Afternoons I spill crushed almonds and cloves.

At night I sleep with the dust of pistachios and cinnamon pressed against my cheek.

Baking is always about hands.

Do not forget this. 
I thread the spell with granules of light.

Spin fire into crystal and dust it with sesame.

Tease out darkness and soften it into dough.

Spell work is about hands.

Do not forget this. 
I kill them every day.

Anoint them with slivers of almonds, cloves and arterial warmth.

Kill them out of vengeance. Wake up overflowing pistachios, cinnamon and decay.

Kill them out of love, walnuts and honey.

Madness, you say.

Mercy, the word spirals through my chest.

Murder is about hands.

Do not forget this. 
I leave the baklava to burn.

Pull out the fig, apple and pear ambrosia cake

with the pomegranate, grape, and honey cream nectar.

It is their favourite.