it's the little things.

mopped the floor and had
a listen to richard marx.
feeling productive.

a dirty deed.

made a young girl cry
last night here at my very
own kitchen table.

the make up stained tears
creeping down her cheeks seem so
far away now, as

morning sunshine seeps
through my bedroom window and
my head gently throbs.

"ma'am, your feet are enticing me"

dusk : man with jumbo
shoes rearranges items
in his shopping cart.

good news !

"damn girl. that man is
a breath away from divorce."
"hm. two more shots, please ?"

oh wait, i remember.

trying to wrap my
head around how exactly
my ass got so big

darren wants a drama-free relationship

shot gunning it to
some fucked up under-water
out-of-space music,

gorgeous pinot, and
a zagnut. Michael Keaton
raises an eyebrow.

today it is beautiful outside

mr grumpy sleeps,
nose a-whistlin, while a cat
tunnels through the tents

made by our bodies
and the duvet. cookie crumbs
gather in the crook

of my collar bone;
i lick a finger to pick
them up, and bask in

the radiance of
afternoon sun made better
by such laziness.