Cold exposed brick
and warm whiskey.
Humid nights
stretch underneath us
Endless as oceans.
We feel the smoke fill our throats
we smile
we wait for the sun to rise.
Poetry. Photography. Thoughts On The Way Of Things.
Cold exposed brick
and warm whiskey.
Humid nights
stretch underneath us
Endless as oceans.
We feel the smoke fill our throats
we smile
we wait for the sun to rise.