Journalist . Writer . Storyteller
The softest slab of limestone asked me to stab her. So I poured my hands out, and smoothed her edges over. I rubbed my knuckles into her walls, tamped down her floor, and tickled her corners. She raised her ceiling for me.
My thumb heel polished the moldings. Our first year together painted the walls. The veranda no one knows about is our favorite place, the basement wine cellar where we collect our tastes.
While you were sleeping, I sat next to your potted plants on the back steps and listened to them chatter as to who among them you fancied the best, like I’m nobody. Like I’m just the guy eating a third piece of pie under the night sky. But the moon knows. The moon knows what nobody knows.
And I know I make my own home, and that’s with you, baby.
Salsa Moon credit here.
For Real Toads Open Link Monday.