This is the yellow we want.
It's the gold we need.
An Incan Abraham song is a dollop of melting butter and the static electricity that nips at our necks and the tender tops of our arms.
They are the trips we can only dream of taking.
They are the sweet fumes that we run on.
They are summer rushes - impatient and understood as limited.
These are the lonely nights with lonely meals.
They are rich banquets, with spreads of idyllic food and joyous conversation that could just split you open with happiness.
These are those moments that feel slightly forbidden or improbable, but here they are. They are yours, for now.
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