It is Bergamot and Orange
and the soft hum
of the ceiling fan
and the memory
of her hands
pressing into
the stubborn knots
in my neck and shoulders
and her reminders
telling me to breathe
and the silence
of dilapidated
dairy farms
and the peace
of hippie gardens
and cold cider
and faeries skipping
just out of view
and yellow primroses
growing wild and free
and sleep
soft, peaceful