Four A.M

Coconut Skin

There is something of childhood in this place. A vague, indeterminate scent of coconut water and the careless dreams of a young girl of nine abandoned at the foot of a cold stairwell. 
I try not to lose my self in alleyways that begin to resemble nostalgia, but there is no forgiveness for those who have forgotten the gentle scents of their youth. There is only the grave requiem of souls trying to find their way back to the bodies that housed them. 
And we lost our souls long ago, back when the glint of a summer smile took away the innocence of skin that had still not forgiven itself for the soft, dark hairs of its frail arms. We lost our souls when subtlety became a synonym for seduction, when we discovered how to decipher the textures of our bodies before we had ever learnt the mechanisms of our souls. 
Now we kneel before mountains of white waters to wash away the remains of who we have chosen to be. We drown decadence in feigned purity so that the gentle scent of coconut returns, ever so slightly, to homes built only for redemption. .
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Words by F

Coconut Skin

Words by F

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