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2003-06-06 The m-word hangs over me like a little hex that I like, but keeps everyone pursed. The casual h-word by now too. Broad shoulders and messy hair every morning. A still secret. But is the best when we purposely go in late to finish the coffee pot while I sift through sheet music on my knees and you tip-type in codes making boxes and boxes that talk to you. We greet the garden with measuring eyes and the neighbors rows roll straight into the sunset. We work in and around each other. You with your oil paints on the asphault roof. He lets me play Polish waltzes on my button box. It is in this way that love carries itself from day to day. |