Sandwich

Each careful slice, the cheese slowly rolling over as it is cut free of the block. Occasionally it crumbles, falling: an avalanche of sharp cheddar. Slicing cheese, especially a dry cheese, with a knife is not so much a skill as an art. Guiding the blade evenly through the cheese, keeping it on a straight path, requires concentration and precision.
Four slices of bacon, each one cooked up at just the right size for the bread selected. Three to lay across one side of the growing construction, atop the cheese, and a fourth one for eating right now.
A slow drizzling of the smokey chipotle sauce, a fresh creation all its own, across the bacon and cheese. The aroma wafting upwards, mesquite and spice hitting the nostrils.
Two delicate slices of smoked turkey breast, both broader than the bread, layed and folded back to the middle. More sauce drizzled over and between them, the random pattern of the drippings a delicate chaos.
A dusting of crumbled and shredded cheese dances across the softly folded meats, waiting to be entombed under the second slice of wheat bread, a rich and dark covering for all eternity.
Top slice in place, the construction slides easily into the toaster oven for its three minute trip to crispy edges and melted cheese.
The timer rings its sunset bell, and the thing is once more into the open air. Onto a small plate it goes, and then to the table. There is sits, a careful stacking of ingredients, delicately tended and prepared. A creation, a sculpture, a masterpiece, a sandwich.