(no subject)
It is, perhaps, later than he intended.
The fire is merely banked coals. Dinner, or its leftovers, are long since stored away in the fridge.
Bernard is fast asleep on the couch, a volume of Neruda's sonnets fallen from his hand onto the floor.
But a single rose, so dark red as to be almost black, rests in a vase on the coffee table. And a square, white plate lies adjacent, piled with a too-careful pyramid of handmade truffles.
The fire is merely banked coals. Dinner, or its leftovers, are long since stored away in the fridge.
Bernard is fast asleep on the couch, a volume of Neruda's sonnets fallen from his hand onto the floor.
But a single rose, so dark red as to be almost black, rests in a vase on the coffee table. And a square, white plate lies adjacent, piled with a too-careful pyramid of handmade truffles.