Aerosmith comes together as I sit, separated by the miles of life that lead us here.
The shapes of shades pass in apathetic tones as I long for collisions. Collisions! Not manufactured anomalies, but necessary strikes of flesh that spark from unintentional fingertips.
You are but a ghost to hold gently as you glide around thoughts— painting pictures of broken smiles and lost tears dried on youthful faces— a swirl in a nostalgic […]
we lived in the night with your
head on my chest and my nose filled
with the scent of raspberry hair.