This morning is an overexposure. Chloe opens the blinds at eleven, in the pale light and the dust my naked skin looks like melted porcelain. I watch her by the window through the filtered air, her nymphic body moves in a blurred slow motion as my eyes adjust from the midnight darkness.
We came home late after drinks and watched Woody Allen's Blue Jasmine
in bed with a half bottle of rum. I'm not going to say that he based
Cate Blanchett's character on my mother, but I do know that they met
more than once in the late 70's. Through the paper walls I can hear her
singing My Funny Valentine, the velvety softness in her voice makes her sound younger than she is.