30.11.13

After dinner.

It smells like coleslaw and rain
and the moon is beautiful.
We are inside people;
the in holds us
like the sky holds the moon.
Holding until time passes.
Holding until it's safe to go out.

It smells like humidity and
charcoal and hears like
guitars.

It touches like a damp towel
and bites like a fly.
It thinks like an overreaching tree.

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