gin reminds me of black birds {singing in the dead of night } when i want to take my b r o k e n wings & learn y to l f of flowers blooming in january and slightly-sweet country music of {almost} thunderstorms and orange blossoms of wearing too much mascara and blush just to walk around naked in my kitchen of cheeks flushed and the taste of lime and gingerale on the pads of my fingers of restless nights when days are l o n g and sweet cosmos and wine don't cut the edg e and the sting of lavender laundry detergent on a paper cut of being a GROWNwoman and realizing that childhood doesn't end. or stop. when you walk a c r o ss a stage of t u m b l e off of a summer warmed s l i d e of swisher sweets and wind chimes in north carolina of pressed powder and the tastes of watered down iced coffee {coffee ice shake almond milk pour} with no sugar