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.