As I cry behind my apron the sweet aroma of onion.
does not compare to you.
As my hands wrinkle behind my apron washing what people eat. does not compare to when I eat with you.
As I whip down behind my apron the stain of beets. does not compare the stain of our love.
As I knead behind my apron the soft dough like your skin. does not compare to you beauty.
Behine my apron I love you.
