I want to take you home. I want to bring you to the house I grew up in.
We’ll go into my room, kick off our shoes. I’ll close my yellow curtains, so all we’ll have of the tireless sun is that heavy burnished gold. I’ll turn on my air-conditioner, the old one, with the long horizontal vents and the bulky dial. We’ll sit on the floor between the beds, listening to it hum and drum. I’ll put words in your mouth, and you’ll swallow them, pause, and regurgitate them and lay them at my stocking feet.
We’ll lie down on the parquet floor, and sleep the day away.
We’ll go into my room, kick off our shoes. I’ll close my yellow curtains, so all we’ll have of the tireless sun is that heavy burnished gold. I’ll turn on my air-conditioner, the old one, with the long horizontal vents and the bulky dial. We’ll sit on the floor between the beds, listening to it hum and drum. I’ll put words in your mouth, and you’ll swallow them, pause, and regurgitate them and lay them at my stocking feet.
We’ll lie down on the parquet floor, and sleep the day away.
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