Shivering. He's curled in a ball to my left, resting his head in my lap. I put a blanket over as much of him that I can, but it's awkward in the back seat of my car. It's 4am. The leather seats are cold and the night's cold is unrelenting. The heat of just moments before has faded and I stroke his hair, sharing my warmth to defrost his heart. I can't take care of him any more than he can himself, but I think about it as the scent of our sex disapates.
Home is this room in Irvine. Home is in the hearts of those that will share my birthday this weekend. Home is a blueprint waiting to be built.
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The daily jazz of my mind, as pure & honest as possible; but know that words are themselves filters of the original thought/idea.
