this city is not my garden.
stretch into me. (adapt)
winter in the tropics is as warm as a memory.
winter in the tropics is a slab of concrete at dawn.
tarmac with chalk drawings. chalk dust.
warm hands. the same run over again.
a skinned knee. steadily growing vine.
roads extend, pushing their wrists out of sleeves.
as if to compensate.
August 8, 2009
January 7th, 2010 at 6:54 am
Love the part that says “winter in the tropics is a slab of concrete at dawn”.
By the way: I love the smell of asphalt as it dries right after heavy raining, it smells warm, it smells familiar and secure; it indicates that no matter how bad the storm is, there will always be a light to give us hope.
January 7th, 2010 at 9:57 am
warm, familiar and secure. even though in the end it’s still just concrete. yeah. i love that smell.