This weekend, I am using one of my few practical life skills, and repainting my kitchen. (Dining area? The place where I eat, not where I cook.) Lovely, warm shades of dusty rose. I am currently sore all over, covered in primer splotches, and full of a terrific feeling of accomplishment.
I have also been fiddling a bit with a poem that I think wants to be a sestina. (I may well be addicted to the damned things now. Someone is going to be in a lot of trouble over this.) For your reading enjoyment:
Your touch rewrites the lines of my desire.
I crave your words upon my skin and long
For secrets writ on flesh, inscribed in dream...