Crisp
I breathe night air. Crisp.
Like the first stunning swig
Of the soda I stowed
In the freezer an hour ago.
Sometimes, a poem just hits you. In the nose and brain.
I breathe night air. Crisp.
Like the first stunning swig
Of the soda I stowed
In the freezer an hour ago.
Sometimes, a poem just hits you. In the nose and brain.