HAMPTON RENAISSANCE

It’s different because it’s golden. It breathes. It exhales, it smells. It dances. It is naturally nostalgic. It warms. It lingers in my fingers through your hair. It smooths. It gets stuck and it sits. It marinated familiar melodies. It reflects in your eyes. It blinks my image. It presses. It pulsates heartstrings. It silences. It soaks in my mouth. It tastes, but it does not speak. It does not need to speak. It feels. It touched through chests, backs, hands. It moves. It shifts and it changes. It is me. It is you. It is real.