(no subject)

[b_l_i_s_s_s]

I’m walking past the workers
Crisp morning, cold breeze
Cigarette smoke fills me
Windsor Road, 9am.

And suddenly I’m back in the middle of nowhere
You and I in the country
You and I everywhere
In each other

And the freezing winter air is nipping my face
I can smell scotch on your breath
And on mine
And I realise,
You make cigarettes smell like warmth on a winter’s night
In the country
In love

And you know how I hate this cold.