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What did Mr Wren say? Words are loneliness. I left a couple of words for you on the tablecloth last night- you covered them with your elbows. – henry miller

i buy my happiness in pretty little bottles and in the morning i have a happiness hangover

I don’t have anything beautiful to say. I just have to write how perfect this moment is, right now, in it. Day after Bastille Day, waking up in the afternoon, making a half-ass omelet and blood orange juice. My hair is tied back in a handkerchief, and I am doing laundry and dancing in the kitchen to Billy Joel’s greatest hits that I found in the living room. The yellow drapes make the whole apartment full of sunshine even at dusk, but right now the light it at its most perfect.

I can’t forget this feeling right now. Paris makes me so happy. Paris
(Its all going to be worth it). makes me so happy.

hey hugo

pavement dance
to touch your back with my fingertips like feathers, like yellow feathers
and breath on my thighs
like lovers
like

2 dollar carnations
like these boulevards and the despondency in them
the wretchedness
ballet flats floating like waterlillies
jesus is parisian
and I’m going to sleep well with my face smashed against your awkward elbow
all day long.

could you please step into my sleeve? my pocket?
immediate and close, so close

because your funny eyebrows
your funny feet
the rosebud tongue on earlobes and vocal chords.

this whispering is childish
gorgeous. don’t stop. stay like that
kiss my collar bone while I make you out of paper maché,
paper maché and bubble gum
and white rum and dictionary pages.
morning glories and

something red.