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Dinner With Tim by ~Lecta:iconLecta:



  Crunch and crumble, crunch and crumble.  Bits of crisp garlic bread that we cooked find a home on his chest.  They wouldn’t nestle in the folds of his shirt if he didn’t wear clothes that would only fit a man four times his size.  I tell him so, and he smiles.  It’s a familiar thing.  He sits up to kiss my cheek.  Tumble and fall, little crumbs.  Move along.  I brush off the ones that cling to him, reshaping waves of fabric.  I hear the thump thump thump of his heart as I let him fold me into him.  He sings with the radio, and his voice slides past all the notes.
©2009 ~Lecta
:iconlecta:

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April 19
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