Untitled

You always told me that when you kissed my lips you could taste the next 70 years of your life. Because when we made love we did it with smiles on our faces and love in our hearts; and when you scratched my back you etched your future into every muscle and every tendon making me feel as if I was some sort of a permanent calendar (But calendars can only last a year). Because you said eternity had never tasted so sweet as you drew it from my breath and kissed the sunshine that leaked from my skin. Because I promised you that I would never need rain-soaked nights in Paris, or money or a house on some far away island because your heart was the only home I could ever need. And because you always said you would treat me like one of your tragic stars with their pagan hearts full of morning and how you would always look up at me in wonder and say “What a fall, but what a light. What impossible light.” g.a.h.

when you go to order an iced capp at Tim Hortons and they say the machine is broken: