Oh, my love. So much pain. All my fault.
I tighten my embrace and cover his mouth with mine.
The afternoon sun beats down on us like fire.
We burn like moths.
Dinner was an assortment of shellfish in garlic butter sauce, served over linguini; a tossed salad of mixed spring greens, violets, and pansies with a light dressing of oil; steamed asparagus drizzled with orange butter; and, for my birthday cake, an impossibly rich New York style cheesecake he made with added sour cream and dark chocolate and allowed to age for several days in the refrigerator. White zinfandel accompanied the food.
A balmy spring breeze pushes at the kitchen curtains.
His head rests on his arms. He’s been lying there slumped at the table for a while now. It doesn’t look like a very comfortable position to f
