In a world of wicked trees
Be that sprouting flower the earth made you to be
How is everyone really doin
She was the Sun
Burning ever so brightly
Dancing on shores
Of burning ambers
Forever we walked
Somewhere between the brush
Covered in flower peddles
Each one with a different color
It’s the moments between each drag of a cigarette-
-I can remember the taste of your lips against mine.
“What a toxic way to remember such beauty.”
Her lips were shy, but
-were like cyclones.
Now there’s nothing keeping me from journeying into the eye of the storm.
It’s that feeling in your gut when you’re doing 65 miles an hour over the speed limit through the dead of fog on Christmas morning with no where to go.