i'm sorry i didn't sound more excited on the phone
2004-03-19 & 1:26 p.m.

the air is lighter today; my stomach is heavier. i blink consciously, and i wish you would leave, for no other reason than i want to send you a postcard from the moon. that way, you could never meet half-way. and we would never have to hear each others sighs, especially the more potent sighs of relief.

your hands still remind me of the rainy season in morocco. will you bake me lunacy sprinkled with saharan sand? where was i fifty-seven wednesdays ago? have i told you i am a flung goddess; i mourn with honeysuckle and chocolate lightning bolts. i only say this so we can tangle our pawn-shop meanings and sell our chaos for a night in sante fe, or maybe just to drink the highway.

this is my musty monologue of sound and flight and missing the 4:50 train. i wish i had known more about you, so i could miss more than your hands.