Laughter, giggling or chuckling. Belly laughs and throwing back my head to hear my scarred lungs wheeze. I forgot you used to do that. I've never met a woman who makes me laugh as much as you, and you would probably laugh that off. Your body language is a walk along a beach, in the sunset, with a crowd of people smiling and laughing. Wearing turmeric coloured clothing and tripping on the sand with a drink in hand. I do not see a beautiful woman, I see a beautiful existence and a gravity, a current that you pick others up in. I'm sorry things have been so bad.
Gingy, do not move. You are my purring paperweight. It is nine thirty four and all I can hear are the clocks. I stroke your head as my love rolls over. Your eyes say 'steady' as the bed rocks and the covers are tugged. I stroke the back of your head and your ears twitch. You purr and I am grateful, I cannot remember the last time I was so clear headed at the start of a weekend. You are my totem. I will use you to anchor myself in what others may do. Whilst you are here I can lie to my self. You are my excuse to assume a position of leisure when all my instincts usually say is work. Achieve. Create... Get up. Do stuff. Be prolific. Death awaits and life is always ticking and tocking. But I stretched. And you turned around and jumped off.