You came all this way to live with me for a week or so.
It seems like we both just knew that we should be together. You came to The Love Shack in Manchester last year & like in a minute we fell in love, of course.
I know that is the premise of everything I do supposedly, falling in love, but sometimes you can just touch the air between & call something to you, call something home, call something home like finally, like relief. We talked about almost nothing: bad boys & astrology. It was brief. You were bold. You are bold. You kept writing me. I kept writing back.
We hardly know each other.
I am bold. I asked you to come. Fortune favors the bold.
It was cold & rainy when you showed up the other day on the train. We had some kind vague arrangement on the phone. I was going to help you with your visa & you were going to help me in the love studio. Mostly we google clothes & boots for my performances & a lot of the time we google Dita Von Teese. Over & Over.
You said Dita doesn't own anything casual. She just wears silk.
At night I go to my new home at pdaddy's. Every morning you are more comfortable at my house, curled up like a big luscious cat . . on my computer, drinking tea, reading my stuff, my journals, my books, watching my movies, even eating the energy soup (at least once).
I need you here & I don't know why. The last few days I have been pretty much in bed with a toothache. I come to visit you in what now seems like your house. I have let go of whatever I thought this time together would be.
Today after emergency root canal surgery, I came home to (y)our house. You had stretched out your make-up all over the studio table and were painting your face & back combing your hair. Nothing else mattered. Everything counts.