She tasted like cloves and cinnamon, the last drag on a cigarette, and the opening notes to a song I’d lost to my youth.
She was iridescent and I couldn’t put her out, not even in my dreams.
She tasted like cloves and cinnamon, the last drag on a cigarette, and the opening notes to a song I’d lost to my youth.
She was iridescent and I couldn’t put her out, not even in my dreams.