Woke up at 3 am, the moon bright in the sky, the nightclouds moving. A ring around the moon, the gentle rain. Fixed something nice to eat, slept in flannel sheets. Anyway now to make up, so right now has 873, needs balance to get to 1667, plus another 1667 if possible for today. Can be done.
From this morning:
The moorish arch, the green tiles, the long row of the closets and the way I would float there in that bath for hours with my candles and my bubbles and my incense. The poetry that spilled out of him. His lips in a slow trace down the back of my neck, his seasoned glance, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He wrote it all down. All the wet cinnamon velvet. The sonnets sung between our thighs.