It Could Be
It was: rainy breezy afternoon, messy charcoal linen bedsheet, music softly playing from the record player, lacy panties under worn undershirt.
It was: skin pressed on skin, sighing in contentment was the norm here, vulnerability was treated with amity, diligently rememorizing every expanse with kindness and zero objectivity.
It was: late breakfast with poached eggs on toasts, holding a body whose eyes were the colour of black tea steeped for too long, greedily devouring each others' fear.
It was: unscheduled visit from the neighbor carrying extra apple pie, ignored emails and messages, competitive board game matches, drinking honeyed tea from floral teacup sets.
It was: heating up last night food, arguing over fictional characters, cleaning up the bathroom with lemon-scented supply.
It was: impossibility, rearranged.
It was: skin pressed on skin, sighing in contentment was the norm here, vulnerability was treated with amity, diligently rememorizing every expanse with kindness and zero objectivity.
It was: late breakfast with poached eggs on toasts, holding a body whose eyes were the colour of black tea steeped for too long, greedily devouring each others' fear.
It was: unscheduled visit from the neighbor carrying extra apple pie, ignored emails and messages, competitive board game matches, drinking honeyed tea from floral teacup sets.
It was: heating up last night food, arguing over fictional characters, cleaning up the bathroom with lemon-scented supply.
It was: impossibility, rearranged.