Saturday, March 12, 2016

At the end of that eternal summer, I found myself back where everything began: lying on the wooden pew, staring out the window at that violaceous pink streaking the palm tree laden skies. There in the darkening cathedral, I was reminded of the poetry of your hipbone, slipping into the hollows between your ribs, my lips against your skin in silent prayer. Some things were easier to worship – though I didn’t know it back then. 

“Addiction is tricky. For example: a man who quit smoking for 11 years spent 15 seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. He gave in. What I’m trying to say is, I think I love you again.”

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