my dear
village as usual
this time of year
is beautiful
everything around is
alive and smells
My aunts are caring
maybe even too much
steamy nights
unbearable
You left your smell on the pillow
your breath on my neck
whispers
when I stretch my arms
to hold you
I catch only air
the end of the summer so far
maybe I will sleep days
so I could survive the nights
newmiragejournal 