What’s that I long for?
What’s that smell I long?
The wafting scent of sulfurous fumes
What’s that sensation I long?
The rumble of the crumbling, rocks passing under my feet.
Or
The whispering slick parting of air as we rush along the surface.
What’s that sight I long?
The sight, of the transparent yellows, or the deep dark greens, the flashing scarlet
An endless changing chain it seems.
Like the one we ride.
What’s the sound I long?
The sound of a distinct silence,
That teams with textures but is creased by our rhythmic pace.
I am protected by the dank earthy mud below
And
A crazy grey sky above
That fades away to a plummeting blue.
-Gina Louisa
