• wine_mirrors 47w

    The wind simmered on my forehead
    Cold and warm, like menthol balm
    The road ran underneath us,
    Until it became a silver blur;
    Miles of sorrow and exhilaration
    Hide inside the cracks of our feet
    We basked under a glistening bridge
    A sunrise made out of cement and streetlights
    I stretch my hands, to tie the wind
    Between my fingertips and fly
    ©wine_mirrors