The sun hasn’t been quite this scorching in a long time but I have tasted this flavour of still in the air before. The ice cream van is parked at the gate again,a beckoning to bite into crunchy ice memory. It’s April and I still haven’t untangled fall from my hair,I pray it doesn’t slip off,I pray I have cause to ease back into the labyrinth lair of my mind.Till then I let the hot air breathe teardrops against my skin.Till then I am still a dusty criss cross of lonely Thursday evenings and early sunsets.Of smoky dusks and metallic sunless skies. Of cool grey marble,of breezy memory.Still a see-saw heart and a topsy turvy soul.



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