I feel in my skin
in my hair
in the backs
of my eyelids,
that if there was one
house in minnesota that felt like New York - -
this would be it. Quiet dead of winter, the street filthy out the window,
people wandering the cold dark streets in the night sky
me, cozied up on your paisley couch with a cat warming my feet with its soft purr,
drinking a glass of sweet red.
you, typing emails for your union organizing, and playing your favorite jazz record for me. Me,
in love with you
You, loving me,
as silly as it seems to me.
Mar 7, 2016
Mar 7, 2016 at 11:36 AM UTC
I feel in my skin
in my hair
in the backs
of my eyelids,
that if there was one
house in minnesota that felt like New York - -
this would be it. Quiet dead of winter, the street filthy out the window,
people wandering the cold dark streets in the night sky
me, cozied up on your paisley couch with a cat warming my feet with its soft purr,
drinking a glass of sweet red.
you, typing emails for your union organizing, and playing your favorite jazz record for me. Me,
in love with you
You, loving me,
as silly as it seems to me.
who knew being a cliche would feel so good?
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