Sounds of twigs and dry leaves underfoot
Letting the wind in, chilling the bones
Need a hot shower for hours
Settling into the nest for a season

Smells of cinnamon and woodsmoke
In the blue city with someone in a cubicle after dark
Proximity of a million souls living without my witness
I buy a slice to feel warmer inside

Feels like waking from a nap at the start of night
Would rather contemplate dream details than accept that no one else is here
Play by play commentary of a game that played out years ago
No one pays attention. Real life is elsewhere

This melancholy has no taste
Maybe newspaper or tap water? Something neutral and innocuous, commonplace
These images are meaningless
Everything is the same

It looks like today.
And yesterday.
It’s been around for a while.

I think I am open to love...
I try to be open…