The train went by and Spring had appeared for the afternoon.
Clément and I sat outside Olivier’s place, waiting for him to come home.
He pulled a beer out of his backpack for us to share.
We were feeling good.
Everywhere smelled like light and Saturday.
Olivier showed up looking like an old legend.
He
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Comments 2
i like that you really run into some of the idiosyncracies that i would otherwise dream up. and describe them this way.
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Usually I don't really relate to synesthesia, but I can fully sense the smell of light in the context of this poem. I think it's the smell of unshuttering a victorian attic in mid-spring.
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