From the small porch, cigarette smoke curls into my nostrils. Barefoot on a school night, they compared hidden lines they made themselves and shared with no one else. Collisions and combustion and thrashing and bruises. And then falling back to earth through flames and fire and splashdown. In those moments, when everything hasn't gone wrong again, yet. Tar mouthed and whiskey sweat. Hold on tight. Just please. Hold on tight.

Photo - S
Words - S