Do not care if you just arrive in your skeleton. Would love to take a walk with you. Miss you. Would love to make you shrimp saganaki. Like you used to make me when you were alive. Love to feed you. Sit over steaming bowls of pilaf. Little roasted tomatoes…
4 tygodnie temu
Not all days. But most days I do. Most days the garden’s almost enough: little pink flowers on the sage, even though the man said we couldn’t eat it. Not this kind. And I said, Then, gosh. What’s the point? The flowers themselves, I suppose. The rain came…
4 tygodnie temu
Summers spent practicing in the apartment stairwell: hand on the bannister, one foot after another. Did I ever tell you I couldn’t walk until I was three and then sort of dragged myself up and downstairs until I was seven or eight? That burgundy carpet.…
4 tygodnie temu
The days I don’t want to kill myself are extraordinary. Deep bass. All the people in the streets waiting for their high fives and leaping, I mean leaping, when they see me. I am the sun-filled god of love. Or at least an optimistic under-secretary. There should be a word for it.…
4 tygodnie temu