When we hear the song of the dog-day cicadas in early August, we know the first frost is only six weeks away. Bon Iver senses my sadness at summer’s end, so he throws the tarp and the army blanket into the back of the truck, packs the picnic basket with roast chicken and fresh sweet corn from the farm stand, and exclaims, ‘Let’s have an adventure.’ But we never make it past the front yard. ‘Your body is the greatest adventure,’ he says.
This blog seriously kills me.
Reblogged from Bon Iver Erotic Stories
