Snow falls again, but the ground won’t take it—
flakes just slosh on the blacktop,
The birds forgot to leave this year.
calls stretch farther than summer ever allowed;
threading chills, with something restless.
It smells like cigarettes and lofi—
a night muddled with black.
Streetlights flick away thoughts
before I reach the Bic,
and somehow—
it’s a full circle again

