Bucolic bottle broken,
Bourbon bath I'm soaked in.
One more twenty four hour landscape.
Another week of feeling like I'm late.

Cryptic poetry written with a clear idea present.
But thesaurus ******* doesn't help the lesson.
To be learn-ed like the old Astronomer,
to gaze at space again on a blanket among her.
Outstretched and a yawn on my teeth and tongue.
Summer is a force tearing me asunder.

Send me your two cent pennies and I'll flick them into your well-wishes.
Fair weather friendships and texts'n'calls, all misses.
Hung up but without much care or thoughts about the pleasantries.
Yellow brick roadblocks down the lane of Missing You memories.