I walked out last night, barley-headed, soul burnt down to a stub, into a black chassis fenced with star - my hairy-eyed heart carried on so. But I am thankful for you, my friend, who so easily righted my keel back into the tide with a graceful turn.
Your words sift the holly, brace the moon, they are petrichor in the lavender fields. They come across the sea, I eat them like pastilles. I refresh the screen in hopes that they have spiced the page.
The way I imagine you now, in this moment, you are running, lifting the beach fleetly, trailing a supping sun - go, then, and know that the world is so much better for you.