Drinking Under the Moon

"Poetry and hums aren't things which you get, they're things which get you. All you can do is go where they can find you" – A.A. Milne, Winnie-the-Pooh

Marshmallows taste like little clouds

I love the smell of cool rain on hot concrete, the expsion of earth with dust and metal.

I love to eat marshmallows because they taste like little clouds.

I love warm summer evenings when the sky is a clear but darkening blue, as if  the earth is trying to hold onto the day for as long as it can.

I love stretching out acheing feet, and cracking my lower back.

I love the feel of soft skin on hard muscle.

I love putting my hand in the hessian sacks of rice in the market.

I love running because walking is too slow, and cycling because it makes me feel free.

I love kneading dough and the smell of fresh bread that makes the house feel warm.

I love the smell of inscence that oozes through the air, hot and sweet. The amber and wood that holds on to clothes like a memory of something secret, something intimate.

I love clean linen. climbing into a bed of crisp sheets that smell like the sea and country air and vacuming all at the same time.

I love expensive wine and cheap gin. My perfume is Dior because it smells sweet and thick but not too much.

I love to look at shoulder blades, and trace them with my fingers.

I love to laugh, but never to cry. To hit with words but listen just as much as I talk. To smoke and drink and laugh and make promises I can never keep.




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