In a moment I will make coffee

He's still here. Supine. Wondering what it is that I am doing with the non-click click on the square pads over here on the other side of the bed while his eyelids echo internal tides. Showering the words came back. He chased them away, all of them but not like Benito, not like I was standing on the street with extra shoes tied tight around my tongue.

There was no fig sorbet but I do not mind. Words were ushered into small black velvet bags and tucked into spaces inaccessible and calm. Three hours and not one sentence formed. I trailed my fingers through floating acres of exclamation marks. His right hand circles my left ankle.

Comments

Anonymous said…
And his left hand?

;) Rups xox
NWJR said…
I've never heard of fig sorbet.
Dan said…
Not again with the fucking figs!

Sounds like things are pretty good right now, Dale. Make sure he treats you well.
DS said…
NWJR,

I am shocked. I am quite sure that I regularly write about fig sorbet. It is excellent. I have been waiting since last winter for it to come back.
Martin Kingsley said…
I will see Dan's sentiments and raise him a double helping. =)
DS said…
He seems like a good man. He seems like a good man in shoes.
NWJR said…
ds: Correction--I had never heard of fig sorbet before you wrote about it, and have never heard of it elsewhere!
DS said…
You should eat some.
Dan said…
I'm sure, at times, you prefer him sans shoes.
DS said…
Sand shoes. ha ha.