I Slip Into Spice

Where the dirty town ends, The dangling dampness of night washes away the grit of the day I blanket myself in pashmina of privacy Stealing away, to the sanctuary of surrender A bit broken... Like a ragged fingernail, Wishing for the warmth of an old fisherman's sweater Or maybe just an old fisherman.... Rest does not come easy And easy is never an easy option... Late night, and of lately... Isn't Autumn a time for lovers to tangle together and watch the clouds drift past the moon.... While barely-there fingertip touches caress the chaos, like ivy climbing. Nutmeg and cloves, cinnamon cider I slip into spice, that it may loft about my 'still single' apartment... Seeping and steeping into corners, dimly lit by the illuminating light of lost loves.... Vanilla and chamomile, lavender, lilacs... Orange and coffee... to soothe my senses, inviting in a welcomed escape from the asphalt awareness of having been too long stranded I these certain circumstances...