So I made a promise, so what.
Drinking coffee as sunlight cracks the horizon, yesterday's rain clouds growing thin under seams of orange and mallow. It's cold but not too cold. Forsythia blooms, Forsythia starts.
Using Scooby Doo episodes to discuss the various psychological motivations for confronting what one fears.
Beyond all appearances, one life, and beyond the one life, the void.
In a dream we talk about making cheese and where to store it and you remove your clothing and I wake in bed beside you, breathless and hard, happy in the darkness, letting my erection subside so you can sleep: this love.
Certain slopes of hill that aren't ideal for raising sheep. Grinning all the time these days because of how rich I am, now I know that buds on maple trees are jewels in the eyes of the Lord.
Going slowly up Main Street, humming Sundown by Gordon Lightfoot, wondering why I associate his album covers with sexual indiscretion. What did you walk in on as a child and how did you feel walking out?
We are not killing chickens this year, we are not killing pigs, we are opening more garden space for Saint John's Wort, corn and cannabis. Making sense of things.
How you can hear the river at night and at dawn but then you can't after a point and why. One of our babysitters used to pin me down on the couch and kiss me, grind on me, which was scary but not uninteresting. Taking the stairs two at a time, ascending. Who is lonely, lonesome, who needs you to do better, and who uses you and who do you forgive, and who do you forget needs forgiveness, even now.
It's late but not too late, and I am carefully loving what is given, I am letting what is loved love me back.
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