In spite of changing clothing, the scent of the frenchman has caught. Tonight I sleep alone.
Fur catching in my hair, unexpected. Trees of darkness spreading thier
branches over the nightrid bed. My wings have caught the air and I fly.
I love the Dance, the steps, the thoughts.
How is it possible to convey body language over the phone? An
ordinary conversation, an easy-going patter of nothing in particular. I
hang up knowing I’ve been asked over ‘for the night’ without a word or
inflection to say so.
I may be a happy person, but it’s because I’m laughing at you.
Puppy, patter, patterns on tile.
I write this down to remember you by. The backporch looks over an
orchard. Cherry trees I want to climb, the thought of pie tins
flashing.
I’m too tired to think, to type, to write.
It will be a lovely day tomorrow.
prepare, my dearest, for I fall from grace