It's always seemed like great wealth to me, the ability to lie down on an afternoon, kick-up-my-feet lazy, and just read. Stare out at the great big nothing that is balcony chip-off paint, that is hanging plant dry with the onslaught of winter-past, that is coffee. Growing cold. Assembling the crumbles, assessing my biscuit tin. Get in a panic when there's splatter against thigh, rile against my wake-up-late. Early day tomorrow? None for me, guv.
It's a treat. Cheap treat, 'cept not really. Will cost you time, which is arguably more, not less than the $8 at the coffeehouse downtown. Could we stay happy here? Well. Depends how long we can stay.
But I find happiness in this stole-away moment, and wonder at it being mine, at words from mouths long grown absent. At last night's relay still playback against my leather coat. Cold night. Snow on my nose-tip despite auguries of spring. Innocence? Maybe later, love.
Maybe you're in love, and maybe it's nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe it's good book on a bender of solids. Find a name you can't pronounce to fall into it again and find, with great relish, as good as remembered. People that talk nonsense and know to twist their tongue the same as I, level-best.
It asks much of me, this way I been living. And often, say no more, no more, but then follows invitation to smitten lazy coffee-date with someone old anew. The more I live, the more I am able to observe beauty around myself. These damn things that's humans that's a girlish way of folding her legs, writing like you're bitter coffee on a page-spill. Men, worse and worse, but women too, also. Whisper that's -- Me, retort, hang up your lust, and you obey.
Wordless, mouthless, take a sip of my grow-cold coffee like your very best squatter self. You can have my coffee, but not my biscuits, nor my book. I'll slip you this next fantasy, but you gotta give back my reality. Movie tonight? Perfect rainy day for it, but I'm not done with my afternoon just yet.
Tomato stain on cuff and it's lazy and it's home and it's look-down-on me, then squat so you don't gotta. look across better than look down. Play with me, or let me alone play dumb. Cavalier you. And me, curled up, eloped up, earlobed inside this lazy house-coat afternoon. Bury myself in a book that's written in the same staccato of my own sweet thinking, and I'm smile-and-proud. Feel for once unalone in the world, and filled. Had enough running on the empties.
Coffee perch above my head, peak-a-boo of great scoundrels. The older I get, the more nuanced the game. And I'm lucky, lucky, so-so lucky, to sit like this in Tuesday-midst and have my coffee waiting on me, my words align with and at me.
Read about write, about kin, about other people's lovers remind me of own. Inspire me to throw out my squeeze-tight, anxious best.
It's a rare thing, when someone inspires you to be best-er. Another put-down-thing on list of things worth living for and to. It's here and this. And what about you?
I write nonsense. You really shouldn't tolerate it. Too much caffeine. Too much me.