by Slavena Salve Nissan
It’s dark all around us.
Sweat exhaust shouting.
Dirty wet grit.
Things rush past us,
colliding with us.
Sometimes, I lose your hand.
I panic.
Eyes frantic,
searching.
An elbow in my face.
Then, you’re there.
Your hand grabbing at my waist,
pulling me in.
The sweet smell of your neck
overwhelming my receptors,
like Epsom salts
and Pinot noir
all at once.
