To take a break in a minute. Not before the final Syrah splash. This wine, with decision, more than music, some thaumaturgical throw and step, shape and clef. I don’t know what it is. And she just woke, just decided to express her intentions and interactive spell in this room.
Glass full. But I wait. Like anticipation with a lover. She, there, here next to me wanting interactions and connection but I withhold and hold my standing, stance here.
Set phone down. Enough checking messages and updates and whatever else. Tonight is for her, me, right now, we. Angle smoke-riled, with cosmic and note-honed back and forth. This is music, this final glass, like the last track on an album you listened to in one sitting and are lachrymose that end arrives. Look at glass. Refuse to sip. Not yet. She’s with me, and I know that, she does, but there’s a wait and that’s what assures ascension of interaction.