02-15-2018, 11:00 PM
haze like a fever
i fell like a dreamer for sweet tea and lemonade; it clings to my t-shirt it’s loud and it lingers, designed to suffocate. i light up to find what i’ve known all this time, there’s some beauty here yet
She is a lucky girl. The politics of Beqanna do not worry her daily thoughts (or any thoughts, for that matter). She’s very fine with the idea of her father carrying those weights. For now she is still growing and developing, testing her capabilities and forcing her limits. Thoughts of where she might stand in the future pass through her mind like quick, fluttering butterflies. Most of the time she is only thinking of where she is now.
Right now, she’s on her way to summit the volcano that might nearly become the death of her. The thud behind her shoulders doesn’t worry Wishbone too much — Tephra holds many secrets which make various noises and she merely chalks the sound up to another creak within the walls of her home.
But the powerful scents of wind, salt, and sun wash over her and, underneath it, the familiar and comforting smell of her father. His laugh rumbles deep into the earth and Wishbone nearly feels it among the cavities in her chest. They are a tinkling duo (father and daughter) and she giggles when his nose tickles at her rump.
She pivots on the flat surface of the rock to face her father. Her sable nose dips close to her skinny neck in order to see him with her amber eyes. At his words, her mouth moves forward to give him a sweet little kiss on his forehead amid the dark chunks of his forelock. “Have you ever been to the top?” Wishbone expects he has, with his wings carrying him everywhere.
If only she had a pair, she dreams.
Right now, she’s on her way to summit the volcano that might nearly become the death of her. The thud behind her shoulders doesn’t worry Wishbone too much — Tephra holds many secrets which make various noises and she merely chalks the sound up to another creak within the walls of her home.
But the powerful scents of wind, salt, and sun wash over her and, underneath it, the familiar and comforting smell of her father. His laugh rumbles deep into the earth and Wishbone nearly feels it among the cavities in her chest. They are a tinkling duo (father and daughter) and she giggles when his nose tickles at her rump.
She pivots on the flat surface of the rock to face her father. Her sable nose dips close to her skinny neck in order to see him with her amber eyes. At his words, her mouth moves forward to give him a sweet little kiss on his forehead amid the dark chunks of his forelock. “Have you ever been to the top?” Wishbone expects he has, with his wings carrying him everywhere.
If only she had a pair, she dreams.
@[Warrick]