I woke to the rain painting the windows; abstract polka dots and rivers. I woke to the silence of sleep, your body beside me, wrapped in cotton sheets; your breath whistling to and fro. The rule is: whoever wakes first makes the coffee, so I slip on my dressing gown and my flip flops … Continue reading Sunday: morning coffee
Silence is seven am on a Sunday morning. A crescendo of quiet as day breaks clean through a bruised cotton candy sky. The kettle boils and my feet pad across the linoleum. Bed sheets rustle as I return with two teas and a smile because the morning shadows sing and cling to the contours of … Continue reading Easy Harmony
The radio switches on. 5.20am. The room is well lit from the rising sun through pale curtains. In the mirror opposite the bed I see my figure; milky skin and nothing else. The sheets have fallen well below my hips, just touching the mid point of my thighs, brushing my feet. My eyes are slowly … Continue reading A Good Thing
To the red head in the window. I didn't see your face, as well as I would have liked. But, my being on the street and you in a second floor window, staring just didn't seem right. But, it was 7am and the sun was rising and there we were, two red heads alike, already … Continue reading What woke you?
There was movement beneath the sheets, this morning, an arm looping gently about a waist, a handful of light kisses painting a gallery upon a back. There was movement in the morning dark, a time and space hitherto left empty. A quiet step upon treadless daylight, a body shaded in slumber, embraced by the … Continue reading In The Morning
In the darkness of my bedroom I think of you the most. I think about your chest pressed against my back. I think about your arm around my waist, stroking each curve you've remembered like wood grain. I think about your voice, its calming quiet which envelopes me in safety. I think about your head … Continue reading At Dawn
Silence rings in untouched air whispering through door frames svelte, past magnolia walls. Silence is golden the border of light below blacked out windows sunshine glittering through cobweb punctures and curtain slits. Silence humbles my feet, innocently curling into carpet grounding night dreams and shopping lists searching for coffee. Silence is fragile time … Continue reading Sunday morning
What do you say when a twelve-year-old asks you if we're dying? Three doors presented themselves. The first stately and indifferent, through which I'd feign disinterest and parade my selective hearing. The second scientific and nonchalant, which promises a cocktail of truth without feeling, shaken not reassured. The final, pulses red and glows pink like … Continue reading 8:40