Rue Pierre Blancon

Would like to sit on the oversized couch and watch you doze off. My feet resting on the coffee table  we made from a shipping container.

Would like to bring in the laundry  from the back balcony  and fold it the way I like  so you can refold it  the way you like.  A sock falls from the line  and shows up in the hallway tomorrow. 

Let’s sit in the chairs that squeak at the big wooden table  in our kitchen  that’s also our office  that’s also our living room.  Open floorplan. Nowhere to hide. Let’s eat too much Comté  from the shop in the old town.  Miss you.

Tiny fridge. Eggs on top.  No dishwasher.  Fifth floor walk up. Walk down.  Walk up.  Walk down.  Loud jingle of the keys  when the neighbor comes home. Home. 

Would like to tell you  how I’ve learned to love.  Too late. Just in time.  Not fighting any more wars. 

Go to the bakery in the morning  and grab a baguette.  I’ll make sandwiches  and we can walk along the sea  for hours.  It’s Sunday, after all.  Miss you.

Sit with me  on the oversized couch  and doze off  while I tell you what I’ve learned about love.

Go to the castle place  when the moon is full and visit the dog.  Tell him I said:  miss you.