moonlight kitchen sonata

Oh confound it all! The dull ache. The lightness of foot. I am here to say that I miss you. Not in dreams, but of headached mornings, of sips between tea.

This fever is relentless.

Please, let's not leave dirty dishes in the sink.

Rubbing the silt out of my eyes, I ask to be my shadow for a day. I have no one to follow into the kitchen anymore. The fact of the mist, the steam of your eyes

We ask not how we got here, but why. It is neither solid nor liquid. This weather is perfect for buttered yams.

Salt is a non negotiable. My skin wrinkles when I laugh. And when I don't.

We sink into the gravity of ourselves. It's about time, I think.

Temporally distant. Some distant crumb of our past, but I am here, living in song. Drinking in little luxuries of starlight, a parcel of flesh from the moon.

October 23, 2024