White Linen Dreams at Platform Four
The air is heavy, smelling of hot iron and salt. A single
Modern Zen
The Scent of Rain on Warm Asphalt
The air conditioning hums a sterile prayer, but I can still feel
The Red Pulp of a Dying August
The air is thick, heavy with the scent of old cedar and
The Scent of Rain on Hot Asphalt
The air in this city is thick, like wet wool clinging to
The Scent of Asphalt and Stolen Summers
The air in this apartment is thick, like the silence between two
The Salt-Scented Memory of You
My skin still tastes of the city's humid August—salt,
