It's a grey sky today, hazy and quiet, delicate.
New grey blinds filter the soft light, streetcar squealing like a Pterodactyl every few minutes, lazily allowing the road to pass it along like a tiny stream.
The window always open, because we are two furnaces.
Up and to put on the coffee, brush my teeth and then sneak back into bed, weaving my way through limb and blanket to splay over top of a chest forest.
Reading Zadie Smith and rolling around, and then coffee is ready so wake him up, lolling about in this perfectly soft jersey tee, to watch the Winnipeg news and check the highlights.
Single skinny candle lit out of habit, and the whole day exists under a quilt of ease, econo luxury, appreciation and muted weight.