Love what I love.
Love that I lie on floor extended, arms extended back past my shoulders parallel to each other in repose, to block out everything out but the soft inhalation in through the nose and out through the mouth, love that oxygen mingles in with tastebuds, saliva coated enamel and the tongue that can't stay down but flicks up inside to caress enamel smoothness. Love that legs extend downwards from a previously upward angle.. no love that first they uncross. .then slide down the floor over textured carpet.. love that the friction tickles the undersole of my feet.
Love that my hand lazily rests on my stomach drawing small circles around the belly button, to move upwards in figure eights between the ribs to travel down again.. love that hand falls down heavy with exhaustion of a mere two second transit of the flesh to curl up beside the waist deep in the hollow.. love that I languidly roll over onto my side to pull one leg up, to leave the other stretched out straight.. and my hands rolls underneath my waist to slowly numb itself under the pressure.. to watch the wall in front of me, pale buttercream not quite yellow, not quite cream.. and definetly not white.
Love that the shadows play out over the walls with the previously restrained hand comes out of hiding, and you pull yourself up into a seated position to make shadow creatures all over the walls, there goes the rabbit and the birdie, and thats all you remember.. theres half of one you forget.. love that you raise your eyes to the pictures above you and take in the trio of fields of lavender.. the bottom of which is crooked, but your not about to rightside it up, no.. that would mean you'd have to get up. Raise your eyes further up and take in the ceiling and the cobwebs dusting the corners in which you only clean or suck dry with vaccum every other fortnight.. it makes your eyes sleepy.
Love that you yawn your readiness for sleep.
Love that the shadows won't stay at bay, they'll comfort you in the darkness.
Love that the previous sentence is an obvious opposition or is it contradiction?
Love that words are a drug set to induce you into a kind of stupor.
Love that I must overlay tone apon structure to build it up till it topples over again.. only to start again.
Love that eyes are dark and lips are full.
Love.
Love that my hand lazily rests on my stomach drawing small circles around the belly button, to move upwards in figure eights between the ribs to travel down again.. love that hand falls down heavy with exhaustion of a mere two second transit of the flesh to curl up beside the waist deep in the hollow.. love that I languidly roll over onto my side to pull one leg up, to leave the other stretched out straight.. and my hands rolls underneath my waist to slowly numb itself under the pressure.. to watch the wall in front of me, pale buttercream not quite yellow, not quite cream.. and definetly not white.
Love that the shadows play out over the walls with the previously restrained hand comes out of hiding, and you pull yourself up into a seated position to make shadow creatures all over the walls, there goes the rabbit and the birdie, and thats all you remember.. theres half of one you forget.. love that you raise your eyes to the pictures above you and take in the trio of fields of lavender.. the bottom of which is crooked, but your not about to rightside it up, no.. that would mean you'd have to get up. Raise your eyes further up and take in the ceiling and the cobwebs dusting the corners in which you only clean or suck dry with vaccum every other fortnight.. it makes your eyes sleepy.
Love that you yawn your readiness for sleep.
Love that the shadows won't stay at bay, they'll comfort you in the darkness.
Love that the previous sentence is an obvious opposition or is it contradiction?
Love that words are a drug set to induce you into a kind of stupor.
Love that I must overlay tone apon structure to build it up till it topples over again.. only to start again.
Love that eyes are dark and lips are full.
Love.