AwJesus he puts his hand over his eyesfingers to his temples
like synchedelectrodes
Time Whatime is it
It’s not late. she was taking loaves of banana bread out of the oven
Feels a little late in my head
sympathetically What do you mean babe? she came over to him sitting at the kitchen
table from behind rubbed his shoulders
A Freudian slip
Crossing it out is
gonna look bad who Freudian slips while writing Is tha even a thing Shell still be able to read wha I wrote
What did you write?
Here Look
he
leaned backshe leaned over his shoulder There jabbed it with his finger
Hmm.
Yah
Think Ill rewrite the page Between you
and me
You say that, then you confess.
Confessions good for the soul baby even if you havent one
You have a soul.
Your soul Youre
generous sharin with me its whisper summer sun warming me bathing me
Take it away I wont
I wont take
it away.
Aw babe he
sighed deeply
One way or another
We’re not thinking about that.
No
Not when given why Im writing Ill
rewrite it
If I were her . . . I would like
to see what you thought how you were feeling deep inside. Your writing is always so spontaneous . . electric.
Read the paragraph look at the way you've written it . . your hand revealing your emotions.
I'm afraid if you rewrite it it will look
scripted, won't synch with the other page. Yaknow love, know what I mean?
Youre right
Yaever get tired of being
right
he took her hand from his shoulderkissed her wrist felt
her heart beat against his lips
Sounds like you were closing.
I was
You recall what you were going to
write?
I do
Strike it. Close.
I was going to start a hot bath. Care to join me?
I would please
Right there
she kissed the top of his head
he struck it
meant to write New Years
not New Tears
Fuck
Freud
1612, Sunday,
7 1. 24
2024, Sunday
