it's a hot day. it's a blue sky. my fingers are diving in your hair. we boarded an atlanta train at three and you've been cozying up on me ever since. i hold you like one holds an expensive painting, struggling to grasp as you keep drifting off to wonderland, quite literally, physically. at last, wherein we flaot through a tunnel, you change your mind. your head falls back in my neck crooks, you smile lazily, i am hit by a wave of cinnamon-coffee-scent and hold you for the rest of the ride, wandering where to go next.
(TO THE STARS! I HEAR ROSE.)
YOU ARE READING
PRAGUE-BERLIN TRAIN DEPARTS AT 11
Poetryunder fleurratic mirage, i cast a downwards © ssalvotore
