The grateful train is leaving the station. Thank you, powers that be, for the following:
Bushwick rooftop midnight.
Champagne, fireworks, cold weather kiss.
Sweaters, topcoats, made of wool.
Funk music dance off.
Tête á tête with airplane scone.
Bushwick rooftop midnight.
Champagne, fireworks, cold weather kiss.
Sweaters, topcoats, made of wool.
Funk music dance off.
Tête á tête with airplane scone.
Couch cushion movie theatre, single malt Scotch.
Early evening nap, macaroni and cheese.
Peeled grapefruit sections, avocado on toast.
Earl Grey with milk.
A day spent asleep.
Oh . . . and thanks for Jack. Being held by him is like lying in an airfield at the close of dusk, the world a quiet, windy blue. An eerie silent sound prevails, ocean to eardrum. Dim streetlamps in the distance twinkle in the darkness. Safely falling into unknown space.
Early evening nap, macaroni and cheese.
Peeled grapefruit sections, avocado on toast.
Earl Grey with milk.
A day spent asleep.
Oh . . . and thanks for Jack. Being held by him is like lying in an airfield at the close of dusk, the world a quiet, windy blue. An eerie silent sound prevails, ocean to eardrum. Dim streetlamps in the distance twinkle in the darkness. Safely falling into unknown space.
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1 comment:
Love it. I love your love. Can I say that? I hope it makes sense on a computer screen (I almost wrote "paper" then had to laugh) like it made sense in my head. Your love of your life, your gratitude - it's one of the most gorgeous things about you, hon.
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