sundays

jorane was blissful tonight under the fading sky, gulls floating, curious, overhead. had to close my eyes to block out the grisly faces of pale old and old-before-their-time people, and scary dancing volunteers in orange and purple. but. . . jorane was beautiful with her wide eyes, entourage, and cello. seeing her throw her body over it, hair falling, made me think of a photograph of someone even more beautiful. . .
my arms are tired from working, my guts swirly from a strong mid-afternoon gin and peppermint tea, my thoughts are still with a novel i finished this afternoon and will have to read over again this week. i'm ready now to take buck65 to bed, slip cool thighs between warm sheets and slip earphones in, to be alone.