Mornings 07.19.2013

The day started in the brunching hour for us.  Remember that, Mountain Man?  We’d slave hard at those those eight hour second shift jobs just to have the time pass us quickly by.  See we could never really be apart since the start.  

My hand on your chest you arm around me tight.  You know that faded grass green fat-corduroy armchair we both sat in after work?  The one we fit  perfect in together if I sat on your lap just right?  The one we preferred over the naugahyde slip n’slide love seat? That’s the chair we’d end our nights in. Those budding and blossoming nights of our passion blooming into more than just that.  

You know that faded grass greed fat-corduroy armchair that I sat in in the mornings? The one I’d smoke my mind away in and listen to the smells of my breakfast being made in the closet kitchen by the egg poaching king? See we could never really be apart since the start. Even the hallway made me ache for you.

Now that faded grass green fat-corduroy armchair sits facing the Whetstone on the other side of the drop off from Canal and I realize...The turns and twists of the building blocks of our lives have been much like the Whetstone and that armchair.  The brook has swelled and it has dried and the armchair has seen much better days, days of compassion and good company.  Not like the rains and piss it sees now down at the bottom of the drop off.

One thing's for sure though. The faded grass green fat-corduroy armchair is still there.  The Whetstone is still there. In the swift curves and changes of the brook we see our lives reflected. The brook and the armchair are still there. No matter who or what comes and goes we will still be here. See we could never really be apart since the start.