My nails are the color of wine-almost-black. It makes me think of the last bit of wine left in fancy wine glasses sitting on tables and by kitchen sinks after a party.
I've been using a soap that smells like almond croissants and butter. I stay in the shower too long because of it and, when I get out, I crave the type of pastries that melt in your mouth like a silk, edible ribbon.
Tonight has been one of candles, polished wood, ink, and paint. Violins and pianos have been filling a room with too strong of heat- the type of heat that places dust in your lungs and the deepest thirst in your throat. The door to this room has been a revolving carousel of both unexpected and experienced visitors.
The applause that bursts in between the songs on the live album I'm listening to somehow accentuates each person's entrance.It also cheers the silence that blooms after each exit.
-k.
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Title credit: Lyric from Possibly Maybe/Bjork
Photo credit: Javi Dardoof of Anatol
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