It feels so nice, I think, to be touched. Cheek against palm. Shoulder burrowed under arm. Head against chest. Mouth to mouth.
No television. Dim light. Simple words. Pumpkin gnocchi without a fork.
You, me, Xavier in between. Wind outside, wine inside. The ipod glow illuminates the corner.
The light of a lone car winding through the mountain road. Silver outline of the lake beneath us. Clear
view, glass from floor to ceiling. No company. Your company. Joining hearts and hands. In the earth in the trees in the rocks in the water in your blood and in the air we breathe.
Heater glows, fire burns. Stroking hair. Clinking glasses. Whispers cutting through the silence.
Left it all back there, outside these walls. We’ll talk sense in the morning.
Where I’d rather be:
1. Here
2. Here with more wine
3. In your arms
4. See 1.
Darkness pervades. Everything rests.
Slowly it fades.
Slowly we fade.
The Artist
music off
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