#evening alone

Moonrise

I have the house to myself tonight...

Last of the strong sun on white tiles, stack of white towels, faint piano melody from downstairs, and the downpour of hot water on my shoulders. I lift my face to the nozzle, close my eyes and see mountains folded over mountains, smoke rising from a woodcutter’s hut, and in the distance, billowing pastel clouds. It must be China I am beholding on this early summer evening— the great sway of rivers, thousands of birds rising on the wing, the jade and mulberries of China, plum blossoms—now the cry of a pheasant. It is a vision that drains me of desire, and leaves me wanting nothing but to be here in this hot steamy room washing my neck, rubbing my sides, the soap slithering down the chest and stomach, eyes still shut, while in China, a light boat crosses a lake, and in a wooden house on the shore a young woman in a tight-fitting silk dress lifts a cup of cinnamon tea to her painted, slightly parted lips.

This is what a Friday night alone with Cec looks like: sweat pants, no bra, comfy shirt, hoodie sweater, ready-in-2-minutes-in-the-microwave Cantonese rice, glass(es?) of white wine, tumblr, Lost Girl, msn, strawberries and/or ice cream, tea.