
We dance together, we dance together. I look remarkably like a flapper. Andrew looks remarkably like a man who swings. Ja, brosie.
Sometimes in the middle of the night I awake from my slumbers and run my fingers through the raspberry kamikaze-coloured hair of a swinger. Sometimes in the middle of the night I arise from my bedchamber and drift down the sleepy hallway into the dark front room. I step down into the moon room and find myself reading and writing. Reading and writing.
An article in the New Yorker discussed a new book packed with six-word phrases describing a persons' life story. I have not tried to shorten my life into the width of a mere phrase... I believe mine is much more than that. Some of the phrases seem incredibly banal. One famous chef said something along the lines of "Brings to a Boil Often" (I am missing a word, I know). Cute. "Je me sens toutes choses" Peut-etre.
I am going to try to write poems in the French language. Bonne nuit.