this_scarf_smells_like_baked_oats raze i wrap the wool around my face to shield everything that lives beneath my eyes from the too-cold kiss of this december morning and find myself chasing fragments of a fear-filled childhood. his mother's house. bread bronzed by time and heat. butter melting into the nape of its neck. stirring orange powder into water and watching magic happen. some small taxidermied creature with no more stories to tell. the need to gnaw on whatever nascent sweetness i was given to make it mine. all this from little more than morning_breath and a broad band of cloth tied tight enough to bruise the bridge of my nose. 251203 what's it to you? who go blather from