yesterday, we were at the art gallery, wandering hand in hand, ducking into corners when rowdy groups of school kids ploughed past, sneaking kisses by the displays.
i had blisters on my toes, a product of them rubbing against the sides of my boots (on the train beforehand you leaned over and whispered into my ear that they were cfm - standing for come **** me - boots and i was astounded and pleased and trying not to make eye contact with you on that crowded standing-room-only train, wondering if other people could read our ***** thoughts) so i'd pulled them off and was slipping and sliding in my socks on the wooden floors.
it was a perfect day, really, but the only piece of art i remember seeing was you.