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David - One more Freewrite to the 5 Senses
Way of the Writer - with David Kilmer
His fire sparks and smokes and glows and Che sighs and stretches in the pleasant heat. He adores the movement of her. She is scratching the street dog’s ears and brindled back, her hand running up and down its spine and Danders is envious again. The dog and the bottle between them. Smell of wet fur and woodsmoke. Taste of agave, of years of sunshine on rocky soil, of the alien blue-green spikes slashed and crushed and baked and squeezed into a fragrant and pure distillation of itself. The taste of each other’s mouths when they swap the bottle without words.
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