A Long Goodbye

You fixed Mongolian stew on a two ring Russian-made burner. It was understood, that we would not be drinking salted milk tea in Ulan Bator anytime soon. I would be moving on, you would be moving into this one room, bed-less apartment. Kazakh embroidery, added an exotic ambience. to the threadbare living-space. Later we laid down on goatskins, imagined that this cold room was a warm yurt. Our bodies were a perfect fit, for an imperfect love. We kept ourselves warm beneath thick woolen Deel's, which we both knew were the national costume, of the desperately lost.