Onomatopoeia, don’t you know that I love you? Words fail me, but you’re there. Eating alone, teeth on my neck, falling asleep — you’re ready to la-la love me.
This reminds me of advice from an editor who loved burritos and French women. She said: “Break the rules. Only communicate above all else.”
She’s right. All we need is a sound and a setting.
Mmmmm. I can’t believe you found gigantic orange cinnamon rolls this far from Seattle. It’s still morning. They’re still warm. Mmmmm. Cobblestone in the city. You’re tired. You hear an accordion near the river. Mmmmm. In the mountains. Dry hands and cold cheeks and sleeping bags that don’t cover either of us all the way.
No words, but we take turns. Letting each other know when we’re happy and when our feet get cold.