A snapshot of a time when everything felt charged and light, like the air before a storm.
Enjoy!
—
Diphthongs In Bed
At the back of a room beyond
the paintings, the easels, the dried palettes.
Baby-blue curtains billow —
tenderly shaking, like electricity between us.
Childlike silhouettes revealed — natural, undressed,
giggling beside the open balcony.
A gentle rain eases into Debussy’s 2 Arabesque.
Allegretto scherzando twists the atmosphere
into something new.
Lightning strikes the shallow lake — only a breath away.
I am tucked under your blankets,
listening to you whisper diphthongs in your mother tongue —
syllables like prayers that never leave my ear.
“How does that sound again?”
Say it again.
And again.
One more time…
Cigarette tip faintly glowing between your lips,
lighter tucked plainly in your wild curls, careless behind your ear.
“Let it go, just for tonight.”
I pull you away from the overdue paperwork.
Freezing feet in bed — even in July —
I cover them with mine.
“Don’t catch a cold, my love.”
—
