Three weeks from today is my birthday. My twin is returning from Thailand later this week. It will be very good to see him, even though it has barely been two months. My thoughts are searching for something...big fucking surprise. Here is the last stanza of Alden Nowlan's poem "Canadian Love Song":
"To my love's bed, to keep her warm,
I'll carry wrapped and heated stones.
That which is comfort to the flesh
is sometimes torture to the bone."
Magic. I wish I was in grad school. This city has become a desert to me. With nowhere to go, my hands burn from the stones.
"To my love's bed, to keep her warm,
I'll carry wrapped and heated stones.
That which is comfort to the flesh
is sometimes torture to the bone."
Magic. I wish I was in grad school. This city has become a desert to me. With nowhere to go, my hands burn from the stones.
Your bday is the day after mine!