10 Minutes. Sunday 17th April
Cider tastes better in the sun. So do you.
Lips pressed together, apple-bursts still bubbling on our tongues, we enjoy the feel of those bubbles that pop.
We fly. Letting our feet leave the ground as our feelings soar up to the warm, whoozy sun. Any nagging concerns about the foolishness of what we are doing are left far behind, buried in the cold, dank earth.
As we come up for air you add smoke to the fug of my emotions. It fills the moment with the scent of sweet recklessness.
You pass to me. I inhale deeply. Immediately I feel nauseous.
I love it.