Sunday, October 6, 2013

The words she knows the tune she hums

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.

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