The words rang in my ears and I felt it in my gut. Before her it was a skilled verse. After her it is a poem! I began…’somewhere i have never trav...led, gladly beyond’ My fingers traced the alabaster skin of her cheekbone. ‘any experience, your eyes have their silence:’ I kissed her on the eyelids so happy to have those eyes look at me with that much love. ‘in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,’ Our fingers entwine and she lays her head on my shoulder and lightly kisses my. Three when you count the hour each day I spent chasing Coach Fredericks around campus or downtown Seattle. And two more hours each day spent practicing racquetball and another trying to ease the pain out of my muscles. And trying to manage a fucking eighty-foot-wide mural when the most I’ve ever painted on a fucking wall is a picture of Melody and Lissa! Fuck! Not to mention that I’m trying to paint a couple of fucking masterpieces in a studio that always smells like bleach because we’ve got a. More

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