August 08, 2006

The weekend consisted of haircuts, chasing butterflies, pieces of you and me sprawled on sofas, baked pretzels and muffins, limbs arched between legs and breasts like wild things …

The rest of the days of the week offer no sweetness equal to this. Thus, on most days I wish we were trapped together in an endless stream of Saturdays, your scissored hands lost in my tangled hair.