Conversations of Ghosts and the Like: How to Grieve a Person Who Saw the Truth

I. This Morning: Logistical

Diving down my check list for the day.  I've had too concentrated of caffeine, but it's alright. The temperature is just right (chilly; not too cold) for sweatshirts and typing; fingers dry from page turning; thirst quenched with water.

These next two months will be busy ones. Good busy. Ready busy. Growing busy. Amazing busy.

II. Three Days Ago: Observation

Early morning cleavage is both appreciated and disturbing.  The other morning I was in a ritzy part of town and saw a well cleave'd woman leaving a Starbucks stand in the local grocery.  It wasn't quite 8 am. I had respect for the keyhole shirt she was wearing and the conjuring of sex, pre-8am.  I reserve a particular depth of want for morning sex, as it is indeed one of my favorites, although I had never considered it in flip-flops slapping against the tiles of a supermarket floor.


III. Today: The Taste of Last Night's Conversation

I have been thinking of energy from one's fingertips as of late.

Last night was spent sliding my hands down and across the neck, throat, chest, arms and hands of a person I am incredibly attracted to. It was enjoyable to play with feelings associated with sex without kissing or having any kind of typical or blatant sexual contact. Enjoyable to feel the warmth. The movement of energy.  It puts you in a trance-like state to some extent: That teetering between the push pulls of battling desires.


be well; be loved,

k.

(image: by Hollis Frampton, A Visitation of Insomnia, 1970 via isidoreblog tumblr)