• frankienobody 26w

    The smell of

    Bonfire
    permeated
    hair

    cold
    fresh night air

    smoky delights

    tales of the moon
    raining silver
    on our faces

    holding quiet hands
    under musky blankets
    “It gets cold from the ground up here”

    unfamiliar insects repeating
    my metronome
    to place and time

    Always returning
    Always returning

    And I know

    In all my lifetimes
    This is the one
    I want the most

    This is the one I choose