Blowing bubbles and
swinging in a yellowing glaze,
these days seem beyond
any bright human phase.
Cider-sweet fingers
blowing smoke to the Gods;
we’re a firework’s coda
us, denimed roughshods.
Beating a rhythm
on a table that leans
we monopolise time
in our halcyon dreams.
Stand firm and sway
while lungs contemplate
days gone in a fire;
our minds infiltrate.
Beautiful 🤩
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