Close Close All Night
By Elizabeth Bishop
Close close all night
the lovers keep.
They turn together
in their sleep,
Close as two papers
in a book
that read each other
in the dark.
Each knows all
the other knows,
learnt by heart
from head to toes.
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I had a pretty low-key but nice Valentine's Day, apart from being disappointed that there's no way I'm watching any more of the Olympics -- it was bad enough ignoring the corruption and in any way supporting this Chinese government's propaganda, but when sporting's enforcement agencies won't take a stand against doping on the grounds that the person caught is a vulnerable young teen -- exactly the person in need of protection from pressure to dope, suggesting to other coaches that there will never be consequences -- I am done. And I have an eyelid infection that is driving me nuts.
Paul made eggs benedict for lunch and we ordered Ethiopian food from Sheba for dinner, plus took a walk in the nice but quite cold afternoon. No Olympics freed us up to watch The Gilded Age when it airs (so sick of Fellowes shows obsessively pitting women against one another while bonding the men with all the power) and Snowpiercer (I demand a proper return for Melanie, we never saw a body, surely she has been eating rats and saving the world). Here are my card, my dinner, Daniel's cake for his girlfriend, and the Valentine sweater we sent Adam and Katherine's dog:
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