The bird songs ring out harmonious Their calls for some wanton *******, The best type. Reciprocated across the landscape Which is not the right word There’s more sea here than land. an orange hangs low in the lonely sky Perfectly ripe, Dripping wet with honeyed shades of gold, Coating palm trees and my knees. Also my cigarette box and my coffee mug. A slow swell pitching and yawing, a side to side appreciated only by those trying to sleep. A breeze lazier than I licks my cheeks and fondles my thighs. It’s time, to go.