1 October, 2008


I don’t have a point, I don’t have a focus, I don’t have something I’d rather be doing.

There are so many things to read, rightnow, so many things to do that seem so impossibly high, just looking for the summit is enervating, is… the sound of my own voice, dissipating into the echo.

I lay in the tent of flannel sheets, sliding into his warmth, half asleep, half erect, half closed eyes and soft noises, dreams still as real as the friction of skin. I am morning: not awake, not nightmearing, not me, not not me, not him, nothing but warmth and chill, the inseparability and multiplicity of the morning air and the warmth of waking.


One Response to “inbetween”

  1. smoothpebble Says:

    Apparently I’d rather be sleeping as well! LOVE that picture!

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