Jardins D’ecrivains, Junky
A breeze on the backs of your shoulders is all takes sometimes. When that shiver comes down so hard you can hardly breathe but to gasp. And even the air can’t fill your lungs fast enough. From hips to fingertips to the arches of both feet, curled up into burning little bridges. It starts like a million pinpricks. All hot and cool like an ice cube between your lips and just as habit-forming.
Featured image:photo by Giandomenico Jardella for Flickr