the design

A mindspace had been officially cleared and set aside to later be endeared by a new hire that worked hard. Most times too hard for the money. Comfortable clutter neatly piles throughout and cozy décor left hardly any space to exercise. In this space. Occupied. Youre still floating in the air. Telling me to fall. But Ive already fallen down. Ive been waiting for you to fall now and meet me here on the ground. But like a magic carpet slips under feet and ventures out your window, full-circle past your cloud nine and the song in you thats so catchy. It catches the lightening that scratches the sky. With no reprimanding. Is this world descending? Or is it me now thats floating? Upon your warm lyrical breath. Upon weekly thirty minute sets? Upon crowned jewels and bedside treasure chests? Guitar chords adjusted to fit perfectly on your breath-Ive lost my breath. Somewhere between the sounds and the colors. Between the families and the lovers. Between orgasms and baptisms. Indecisive and perhaps irrational nepotism. Rash decisions born not of woman but of carelessness and fear. We are not natural rebels. You fit perfectly here. In this space you have. Occupied. But have you yet found any time to look at my design?

c.mchale.031203