all the secret things in warm melted pots

i have become fascinated with the movements of muscles- sinew and tendons stretching across a frame, sheathed in skin, moving in bunches and waves and ripples. forearms may be my favourite, their movements slight as fingers dance around various objects, mixing batter in a bowl, slicing fruit, tossing sheets through the air. equally enthralling are calves, constantly defined and redefined as legs pump bicycle pedals, or move bodies up six flights, five flights, three flights of stairs. or maybe it's the thoughts of shoulders, relaxing as bodies sprawl over chairs, across the floor, on a balcony or a bus or a bed.

yes. i have definitely become more than fascinated.

there's lighteneing dancing across the sky tonight- the third night in a row. midnight rain splashes against the railings of my blacony, htting the edges of my basil, my lemonbalm, my rosemary, reminding me of home.

i may actually be the most homesick now that i have ever been, barring my first year away from those limestone bones. i wonder if it's crazy that i am literally counting down the days until my mother and my brother come to this city, come to my new home, my granite frame, covered with muscles shaped and developed over the past four years, built around heart ache, love [of all varieties], laughter, food, hard work, naps and music.

yes. i am fascinated with muscles. but maybe not just sinew and flesh. maybe soemthing more.