Tuning the rhythm of desire tonight

This afternoon a brittle Nick Drake record spun while the braid lay heavy against the nape; sunlight slanted over the Wedgwood-blue banister and the negotiation document waited on my desk. I redlined a clause between sips of strong coffee, tasting the neatness of consent like an old varnish.

An apprentice arrived at dusk and moved through the arc I'd written, careful as a luthier checking a string; the room held that exact, intimate hush when someone crosses into the place we planned. After a quiet citation of Bataille and a measured exchange about limits, there will be Belgian beer and a debrief that leaves both of us smarter — and, if luck holds, slightly breathless.