I leaned over you, rested my arms on the certainty of your chest, floating along the rise and fall of your anima like a toy boat unmoored, and listen to your laconic heartbeat.
You love me. Your arms offer the safety I feared to never know, and the comfort and joy that this season wants.
The shining fruit left on the table from this morning serves as a reminder that all sugar spoils, overripe and eager to be eaten by hungry mouths, the ones that stay silent when the talk turns from the weather to things about you and me.
I love you. I am the perfect ornament, the satisfactory complement to all of the doubts in your tea-kettle.
And the sun rises, and the light's already on - yellow glow filling the little kitchen, dark and occluded sky shows no sign of sun but that's alright, that's quite okay because
because you brought me the paper
and that Darjeeling scent has already curled into the corners. Make sure to draw the curtains when you come in, and we can lay here
quite still
shored up by the steadfast beauty of the waxing daylight.
posted by MissSolitaire, 20:21 | link | comments (2)
