The whites of the eyes; the fans of the iris glowing back as
the sun sits on your left.
The sun is running from the thought of rising and sets its
sights on setting within the next few hours. Air is fare on my lungs for the
closing month before a new year.
Little tactful of ride with salt staining the any sort of surface, gray
and a hint of malice salt can become.
Fresh water on a roads like today only bludgeoned that thought because
its only snow or black-ice that is beginning to swelter due to the tempter of
the sun.
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