He came over to brush my hair, told me I was golden while looking through a mirror. Dark locks down my bare back, I place my arms gently along my sides as he leaves me and walks towards the kitchen. He glances back and asks me what I am thinking about.
"I want to paint the full moon outside and name my children after Edgar Allen Poe," I said.
He continuted to fill our glasses as he asked where all my books were. "They're at my father's house." He knows why I leave them there as well as I, a part of me must always remain home.
We turn the pages into the night, dark works smell like the fog covering the moon.