like this-
this morning_past--- at four-thirty, lingering in a half dream state when the trees are still made of blackbirds before turning the bedside light on. reading necklace of kisses in two hours, while the fringes of the sky begin to lighten to a fair grey. the novel felt like an early morning in bed with a love from many years past; it rekindled fires, opened fastened lockets shaped like vintage hearts. i want to kiss satyrs, oh.
the downstairs clock's just chimed eight times. i am eating cinnamon pancakes shaped like hearts and old boots and tiny buttons and drinking orange juice. i haven't had orange juice in years.
this stretch of time {does it have boundaries?} is one so profoundly sensitive; my skin prickles with every perception of beauty. i want to live likethis, always. electric, ardent, exchanging essences with everything. i am holding pale seashells to my ears, and they're interpreting the world as pure poetry.
today_future--- cucumber & avocado sushi at taipei tokyo, a haircut, cooking rice with red onion & red bell peppers & cherry tomatoes, a soporific shower, a date with the sewing machine, and whatever else comes my way.
i have other stories to tell, of yesterday, of inherent kinship and metaphorical aviation of the heart. soon.