Sunday, November 12
The light from overhead flickers as the fan blades circle
Imitating the slow heartbeat of a candle
Vibrations and the the steady percussion of the singer's voice
Etching a delicate pattern against the floorboards
And you sit, silently, contemplating something unfamiliar to me
I sit apart, self-conscious, writing the first chapter of a novel in my mind
Every word on your lips
An apology and a cigarette
Imitating the slow heartbeat of a candle
Vibrations and the the steady percussion of the singer's voice
Etching a delicate pattern against the floorboards
And you sit, silently, contemplating something unfamiliar to me
I sit apart, self-conscious, writing the first chapter of a novel in my mind
Every word on your lips
An apology and a cigarette
