The girl I met, smelled of mud. Of the wholeness in it. She felt like the last straw in all of it that unsettles me. But that I hold on to, anyway. Because, who ever knew what it was that grew inside their spine, along with all the fluid, condensing it all for future warmth? //caption// Trace it to me The girl I met smelled of mud. Of rains. And not the freshness of it, but the dampness. The murkiness. Her hair, like the dizziness of it. Her face, the shape accentuated by the hair plastered, like the mildness of it. Her smile, like the on and off spells. The girl I met, smelled of mud. Of the wholeness in it. She felt like the last straw in all of it that unsettles me. But that I hold on to, anyway. Because, who ever knew what it was that grew inside their spine, along with all the fluid, condensing it all for future warmth?
