Morianrhod
Does Her Best.
A bitterness beyond the palate.
A deep breath to calm the nerves.
A drag held too long and a tongue covered in ash.
A realisation.
A smell of fuel, the warm rush of heat over the hand.
A fear of the flame, a tool not a weapon.
A snake in the hand, waiting to strike the lungs.
A moment's repast.
A lung's breath of memory.
A bitter aftertaste.
A resolve to leave the packets behind.
A deep breath to calm the nerves.
A drag held too long and a tongue covered in ash.
A realisation.
A smell of fuel, the warm rush of heat over the hand.
A fear of the flame, a tool not a weapon.
A snake in the hand, waiting to strike the lungs.
A moment's repast.
A lung's breath of memory.
A bitter aftertaste.
A resolve to leave the packets behind.
