“Where once there was life and love, there now exists empty paint cans and crisp packets that float in rivers for years upon years without anyone ever knowing.”
The glow of angel eyes and the scent of lemon drizzle cake that reminds me of her mum’s old place. A car ride to a strange town that still contains her ghost and where the air tastes like the strip of flesh behind her left ear, the area I rest my nose against while we slip between the layers night after night in search of the great beyond. Mood swings brought on by living, and lapses in faith that come with the territory of skirting the edge of reason in pursuit of that which eludes us during our waking hours. A shared cigarette. A kissfrom her mouth that tastes of leaves and wet stones. The war cry of a gathering of cats somewhere outside as they stand on their hind legs preparing for battle. While they circle and pounce, I place my hand between her legs and touch everything that…
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