mushy makeshift macaroni
over
fiery flames, fueled
by barky bushy brews
of kindling

I feel like white wooden window sills

Around every poorly lit street
the ones with cracks in the road
and coin beggars in the shadows
you will find my unwanted poster
a picture with clarity through time
from child to adolescent
the poster remains scattered
throughout this ****** city

He existed like a song
his very being was music

I love his sweet soothing scent
Like wood slightly tinged

His crystal blue eyes
outshine the sky
and gain favour of the sun