Gold, Rush (climb into the clouds)

The girl with the black jacket clutched tightly to the metal frame of her bike, the brake wire digging into her fingers, as she descended down the train station stairs. Her mind, swaying from the alcohol in her system, was doing its best to keep focused on the stairs, but there were so many distractions…

Advertisement

The Smell of Citrus (oxytocin sucks)

The smell of citrus A distracted mind, Thoughts of warmth, Fears of excess, A real illusion, Easily stripped away.   The smell of citrus, On her hands, In her hair, Washed away the scent Of other, Innocently accumulated, Yet cursed with assumptions, Longing, hushed glances, Radio silence.   The smell of citrus She wished he…