The Obscure Semiotics of Winter
It snowed today, small flurries. A year ago, exactly, we watched naked fruit shiver in crates on the street corner-- piles of pommegranates, green mangoe-- without mittens or blankets, covered in snow. I no longer feel a fruit exotic to this city but still I hate the cold.
If you were here we would put on black scarves and watch our breathe bleach the night like cream in black coffee. We would put Miles Davis on the record player, bake blueberry muffins at dawn. We would huddle together for warmth.
If you were here we would put on black scarves and watch our breathe bleach the night like cream in black coffee. We would put Miles Davis on the record player, bake blueberry muffins at dawn. We would huddle together for warmth.