Peace that resembles the movement of clouds on days when breeze and sun share custody of the skies. Like the tryst between ice cream and cone at the tip of my tongue. I want ice cream, hugs, and more ice cream... and more hugs, and night time walks under street lights featuring those conversations that invite kisses in between thoughts shared. I want kisses — and your fingertips. I've been memorizing the feel of your fingers — on my skin, and palms, your palms — hmmm.
I want to dip our days in the Styx so that they'll never end and pray the gods protect our Achilles heels.
I want peace that smells like shirts stained with your scent and joints smoked and the day air that clings to us from beautifully high rooftops — and being beautifully high on rooftops.
I want peace that feels like your breath on my lips before a kiss. Peace that sounds like my name on your voice and tastes like Merlot. Sometimes it looks like bad days woven together, misstitched onto the hem of our shared time — but, I won't mind, as much, so long as a time comes for peace.
Kimolee Eryn is an artist and writer who believes in creating for a purpose beyond the purpose of creating. She believes that a life should be lived not just to sustain itself but to cultivate peace, love and growth in all adjacent beings and hopes to exemplify that in all she does.