between updates

Relinquishing the last of the red dust. Tracing it's swirling descent. Cocooned against the coolness, I am waiting.

We negotiate in sketches. When we harmonise it chimes like a round of drinks with old friends. Held high glasses foam and overflow.

My skins puckers and subsides. I catch prickles in my shoes. I hold my breath until it passes. Until it's safe to come up for air.

The distance smells like damp and salt and thick pastes and heady sauces.
Tongue straining towards the sealine. The tar glistens like dew.