Edit:

I wish to concoct us cookies,
not conventional oil/water disasters
so we try to mend in unison.

Yet amidst passive aggressive calculations
and spiralling skeins of sugar,
we agree on compromise:
I eat his corrupt cookie dough
- raw egg polluted the taste.

He consumes chocolate chips
until his hands are coated.
The only evidence of sweetness
rolling through wordless tongues.

My apron upon the tiles, cottony flour,
crumpled in defeat. Sugared arsenic
a more appropriate side dish.

In the end cooking metaphors make me hungry
and I wish to feast upon his palpable guilt.
But today he exudes a canvas of nothing
and I will go hungry in my own kitchen.

a/n: I rarely expand but in this case, I wanted to tell a story, not just give you a picture.