Midnight+59

Freeform jazz and the aroma of coffee always erupts the sensual senses. I am the mind wanderer, touching things with the spoke of my hand like it is written on a cast, we are so quiet in our own solitude not bearing to be away from each other. I think weekends are the worst, when the sunshine beckons a call to rush out and answer, can I say I am not interested? I love minutes to midnight, and the hours after it. Till the break of dawn we are sunshine creatures, drenched in our own drug of laughter. There is never anything more, the little gritty stuff stuck in between our teeth is never my favorite and I curdle like a piece of bread in condensed milk. After two, the aroma of semi burnt waffles sneak through the air under the bright yellow spotlight, dripped in chocolate and and endless string of peanut butter, we tend to listen to laughter and made up words, we listen, but never hear. Breathing in, the rhythm slowly erratic my eyes cease to acknowledge a presence is different because it is always the same. The beat changes, a second song is put on the same feeling is invoked in the heart. It whiffles up your nose, the air is so clean and unscented.