We sat on the bare wooden floor of your house the night you first moved in, polished off two bottles of cold wine, talked about everything and ended up nowhere until we fell to the lacquered wood with dizzy hysteria rolling up and over our abdomen.

Warm twilight, the curtain pillowed like a white Rococo gown inhaling summer breath while stacked boxes perched themselves like an audience of strange, silent owls bearing witness to something complete.

Greedy for this moment, it felt clear to me then we had everything in this world to look forward to – a swelling forwards, sweet expectance, the delicious taste of generous prospect and a liberal bowl of sweet beginnings.