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Monday, March 15, 2004nothing poetic here today. just roasted norah jones, basted with honey, pepper, and relaxation. i can't claim to have seen fireflies, but i've seen the light they give off, and i've felt it run up through my heels and stay there, tickling, at my knees, the way a single yellow dance can tickle through the whole night, with all the heat and sweat and swing you could bear, and then up to the stomach to practice backflips, backflips on homecoming and a dress laced with compliments, and on up to the lips, meeting the fire of your own, matching you, move for move, intensity of a fireflies' brief light."yeah. you know that feeling when you have when there's this really small expensive piece of lamb in front of you, and all you want to do is just consume it entirely at once, but you can't, because it will be gone, with only the fading satisfaction to remain?"
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