Extraordinary ordinary

I have given my archangel a balcony view of my lands, since he asks to explore them. It leaves me feeling continually naked in his presence; not the lack of clothing but of skin. Each time we meet there, I feel it like a blade: The caressing blade which lets just enough blood to feel its warmth without the shock of spray.

Last night I dreamt of spray but it was not blood; it was dirt, gritty, spun up by tires leaving. Dust at the throat and a sense of failure. It might well have been my own, or my own as well.

I wish to pin my archangel down like a butterfly in a collection while he flutters. And at the same time, I wish to have a minor argument, and resolve it the next morning with a shared joke over eggs at an aged but clean and well-trafficked diner. Not in the physical sense, although of course that passes by as well. But the joke and the mending. And, I suppose, the argument. I will have to find something to argue about.

This love is ridiculous at all times, but in its ordinariness as well as the rest. That is why I am silent about it often. All happy families are the same, it seems, and I am happy to be with him as well as myself. It is a time for ordinary song.


About Jenn

Find me on Twitter @JennGruden
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s