The night smells of ordinary life,
of youth and alcohol and one night
love. Of nights spent boiling
cold in run down backyards as you pass
a half empty wine bottle. Everyone wearing
everyone else’s jumpers. With the
arm of a boy around you.
You can’t remember his name.
The night smells of intimacy,
an intimacy outside ourselves,
of plain existence within a universe
where the odds weren’t in our favour:
the night smells of an intoxicant,
where great heights were gained grounded and
your potential insignificance actualised,
turning perspective thoughts to reality.