the pear trees in brooklyn smell like heaven. a warm night. fragrant. heavy. pleasant. unlike new york. these streets are mine. the cars almost hit me, but they slow down. they know i need to walk slowly, and shed the shroud of winter. the sound of my shoes on the sidewalk is mine, steady, meaningful.
a warm summer night in april. no one to kiss, but no need. I have it all saved up for a chillier season.