we're here we're together here we're living together here.
we told our parents he's sleeping on the couch. we're living together in the city while we're interns because it'd save rent money and make me feel safer. also we are sleeping together.
i hate writing anything that's not news.
this isn't a poem.
this isn't news.
this is a saturday afternoon,
you're working late,
i miss you and want to eat dinner but i'm waiting for you,
thought.
this is a thought caught up in wrinkled creases -
of my forehead, of my cardigans,
of my heart. i just want to wrinkle the sheets
around you and me and i do not want to
wrinkle my time around doing housework because
it's past 8:30 and i'm still waiting for you to
come home because you're working late and i
just want to eat dinner with you.
and also i hate folding laundry.
i hate folding laundry and i haven't
folded the laundry that i did on
monday and it's saturday.
i'm getting an f in housewifery,
at least in this category.
(i make up by getting a's in
eggs florentine, apple pies from scratch,
washing the dishes, kissing you deeply.)
here is the reason i hate folding laundry:
mine is annoying dresses and tedious sweaters that
need time and care and need to be put carefully
on the hanger.
but i actually secretly like folding laundry.
but i like doing OUR laundry.
actually, i just like doing yours.
when i fold your shirts,
match your socks,
tuck your boxers away in your dresser,
i think of these things:
how much i love you,
how much i love living with you,
how much i want you to be successful,
and how maybe thinking about loving you will rub off
and make your day better when you wear that
particular article of clothing.
i'd rather do your laundry than mine.
Words by liana
Read 695 times
Written on 2011-07-10 at 02:39
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we told our parents he's sleeping on the couch. we're living together in the city while we're interns because it'd save rent money and make me feel safer. also we are sleeping together.
doing the laundry in our tiny ass city apartment
i hate folding laundry.i hate writing anything that's not news.
this isn't a poem.
this isn't news.
this is a saturday afternoon,
you're working late,
i miss you and want to eat dinner but i'm waiting for you,
thought.
this is a thought caught up in wrinkled creases -
of my forehead, of my cardigans,
of my heart. i just want to wrinkle the sheets
around you and me and i do not want to
wrinkle my time around doing housework because
it's past 8:30 and i'm still waiting for you to
come home because you're working late and i
just want to eat dinner with you.
and also i hate folding laundry.
i hate folding laundry and i haven't
folded the laundry that i did on
monday and it's saturday.
i'm getting an f in housewifery,
at least in this category.
(i make up by getting a's in
eggs florentine, apple pies from scratch,
washing the dishes, kissing you deeply.)
here is the reason i hate folding laundry:
mine is annoying dresses and tedious sweaters that
need time and care and need to be put carefully
on the hanger.
but i actually secretly like folding laundry.
but i like doing OUR laundry.
actually, i just like doing yours.
when i fold your shirts,
match your socks,
tuck your boxers away in your dresser,
i think of these things:
how much i love you,
how much i love living with you,
how much i want you to be successful,
and how maybe thinking about loving you will rub off
and make your day better when you wear that
particular article of clothing.
i'd rather do your laundry than mine.
Words by liana
Read 695 times
Written on 2011-07-10 at 02:39
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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