Red velvet cake

Red velvet cake, red as my lipstick called chrysler passion

I’m convalescing. Slightly achy, bones making their presence known.

I sifted the confectioners’ sugar, watched peaks form like a vista out of Krakaur. Buttermilk and oil make a Mars scene. Okay was the first word said on the moon.

It’s a cold clear fall day and I think this house was built in the winter because of the way the sunlight enters

As though the architect invited it in, planned a morning entrance, to dwell over lunch and depart, lingering, at five,

Leaving in time for dinner at six.

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