Laying there, one fleshy pale leg resting on top of yours. Layers of blankets hugging us to the bed, I pretzel and twist – one of my arms over my head, one of yours, over yours. I find your fingers with my left hand and you squeeze them, even though you are mostly asleep. I try to touch as much of my skin to yours as I can, curved like a bean next to you. I lay my head in the sweet spot that your body has made for it. Was made for it, long before I met you. When you were born, maybe. I put my right arm across your chest. I know you love this – a woman resting on your chest. “There is something so…satisfying…beautiful, about it,” you once said. Or something like it. And even years later there is an impression there, and an image in my head. It’s faded like a washed-out photograph. You know the one. And it doesn’t hurt anymore, but it’s there. Maybe it always will be. I decide it doesn’t matter and I start a poem in my head. God, it’s almost 4 a.m. and I am composing words as I feel you breathe. None of the words are good enough. Some of them don’t even make sense. I will never be good enough, my brain says. But you already are, I counter. Your thigh is twice the circumference as his. And it feels good for that not to be something I hate. It’s a non-issue. I take that back. It’s a celebration. Continue reading
Half a glass of garnet colored wine on a sunlit table.
Childhood photos; blues fading leaving yellow to paint a thousand words.
Piles of chocolate chips collapsing softly into a rich molten puddle.
Freshly laundered sheets– snapping them open and stretching taught over the mattress.
The drape of a bias cut silk dress on a beautiful woman.
The smell of woodsmoke in my hair.
Steam rising from the roadway pavement after a cool summer rain.
Strawberry decorations on vintage juice glasses.
The way a diagonally cut sandwich triangle fits nicely in our hand and the satisfying first bite on the edge of the center of the longest plane.
The satisfying click of an pen lid snapping into place.
Glass marbles in a jar.
This is a corner building in Havre de Grace, Maryland. I’ve always had a special place in my heart for Victorian inspired architecture, especially turrets.
My sweetheart took that photo then edited it to make it a little more magical. It’s images like this that inspire me to write stories.
Havre de Grace is a lovely little town. I recommend staying a weekend at a B&B or at a guest house. There aren’t many, because it’s a tiny town, so book ahead.
Also, don’t forget to stop by Bomboy’s for some candy.
The last time we were there for a weekend we lucked upon an arts festival and acquired a lovely hammered copper spoon necklace and some handmade candles and soap. As a sensualist things like handmade soaps and candles with their rich scents and lovely packaging make me happy the way tea parties and hot bubble baths do. Not to mention, supporting small businesses and independent artists. Winning!