I came home
Mama bought la loncheria
And I see tortillas
Sitting on the counter
Mama has her famous
Apron on
Meaning she’s making bunuelos

Her apron hugs

Her waist

And the bright stitches
Of the flowers give
Off her caramel like skin

I hear the sizzling of the pan
Tortillas and platos
De dulce sit on the counter
She dips the tortilla
In the gooey goodness
Of the sugar
And it dances
In the frying pan

Time passes
And your born
The glistening of sugar
Is shown on your crispy coverage
I lift you with delicacy onto
A servilleta

Drippings of oil
Flood the plate
Like a newborn tsunami
But i don’t mind
I pour the canela into a crystal cup

Steam fills the air with enlightenment
As I drink it
It leaves a hot sensation coating 
My throat
Finally it makes its way
To my tummy
And it feels like a sauna

As I bite into you
I’m beautifully violated
By the flavors
Shooting like fireworks