Your tongue scraping against my teeth and the cold breeze hitting my right cheek. Frozen and awkward desires in wandering neighborhoods I’ve never seen and wondering about how I could feel so good, feel so free, feel so fresh, feel so me. My head pounds in the heat of exhaustion or the heat of something else, but I’d rather be half awake then never wake at all. I feel more like the warm chamomile sipping through cold lips, placing myself into something that feels so right, feels so good, feels so serene, feels so wordless.