A sent a certain type of scent that only
distance can smell in its memory
A flicker of flight the year is already
finsh in those moments back then
looking observing rushing, it seemed
Slow too slow for that for me to cross the
Red light, because home I go fighting
mistakes
And cars and people avoiding like war
That nobody wants, and wants to start
But not finsh, empty collar bone you run
Your fingers there to feel what it would
Feel like if somebody else's hands
Fingers was there a certain type of hand
certain type of fingers of body of mind
Of soul of voice of thoughts of
everything whole
you wasn't aware of your pool like collar
Bone only aware now cause you looked
in the mirror felt it and thought water
could be pored drank fingers could be
sink diped caressed mold a shape on
your skin time could be rewind or
slowed giving you the comfort to re
think and think about things
And the cold December maybe wouldn't
Feel that cold but warmer for distance.
-ashespoetry
A/N it's been a while, December is colddd.
