Sunlight is an addictive drug.
It’s a dagger of a lover.
It numbs the winter deadness from your veins as it rockets through you, bullet-fast. It nestles you in a coat of marmalade light, serves as an impenetrable armor when it conforms to your contours with its smoky rays. Light up its sweetness. Cushion it like a pill on your frost-bitten tongue. Embrace it with a healthy overdose.
Enter the reality of a slow-blown-western New York.
The high dies, kamikaze style, when gossamer-veiled skies ghost in. Withdrawal strikes, left-handed, with a one-two-one-two punch with every snowflake and every droplet of rain.
Sunlight sneers as it sailor-knots you into a stupor, then saunters out the door, leaving you with only your earth-quake limbs for company.
It numbs the winter deadness from your veins as it rockets through you, bullet-fast. It nestles you in a coat of marmalade light, serves as an impenetrable armor when it conforms to your contours with its smoky rays. Light up its sweetness. Cushion it like a pill on your frost-bitten tongue. Embrace it with a healthy overdose.
Enter the reality of a slow-blown-western New York.
The high dies, kamikaze style, when gossamer-veiled skies ghost in. Withdrawal strikes, left-handed, with a one-two-one-two punch with every snowflake and every droplet of rain.
Sunlight sneers as it sailor-knots you into a stupor, then saunters out the door, leaving you with only your earth-quake limbs for company.