i loved talking to you today. after so many years. since we had spoken. and i don't remember why we turned our backs. awkward, at start. reluctance and a very bitter angst that formed this bridge. you told me not to save lives, one sunny morning up in nottingham. and i remember. my unbelievable rage. because you broke a piece of my flesh.
but thank you for talking today.
it's been a fast few days. i feel like i've been skipping steps. yet trundling. a weird concoction of feelings. i know. and i also heard the tinkerbells today. and oh what a beautiful sight of the palazzo ballroom. elle est belle! and it's funny. because my little great grand mother, got married in a quaint old church in cinnaminson. many years ago. and those stories that i hear make me chuckle and smile. at the same time. and maybe, with this pre-formed association with cinnaminson, i perceive this "palais" as a craft of beauty and genius. under the crease of shy tapestry. a moody whim of dangling chandeliers. an aroma of wine and joy. carven marble and glazy granite. like a chiaroscuro of beauty and hazel elegance. and shimmering goblets. and a chime of melody. laced with drips of molten silk. i'm smiling. all the best to B and L. tous mes meilleurs voeux pour votre mariage.
they used to say, at brick lane, around seventy seven years ago, there used to be a hall of fame. for the eccentricists and dictated narcissists and grouchy old philatelists. and i believe, they used to have some street performers. who earned a name for combing silk. i remembered that today. we used to go there remember? across the river? on the east side of the Thames?
No comments:
Post a Comment