Snapshots from work in progress.
I see the poem in the sky; the previous tenants have painted the wallpaper, wallpapered the paintings, and so on. Yet each has received a security deposit back, in full. In short, I'm afraid of setting an example.
To strip this away and hear your side again is astounding, like falling down the stairs yesterday --- I groaned and it hurt. Today it is my night to cook and tomorrow the rent is due; consequently I believe that if I write hard enough now, we will fall in love forever.
Softly, this is going nowhere. I look for direction, the hardbound book in your hand. In lieu of advice, I find uncomfortable lines, like, how did I come to own this lead blanket? Sheltering on a stranger's sofa from the hail outside, I begin to envy the dents in the pavement.