Lost to us were the
bright and sunny days in the 60s,
lazy afternoons & the pristine scent of grass after rain,
all that matters is invisible to our naked eye.

Time is the bottle
we cram memories with &
fleeting is our being ****** into an unprepared tomorrow,
drowning in the long-gone reverie of yesterday

Nostalgia is the sweet lie we murmured, the small
cloud of dust suspended in the air &
the smoke rings spiralled toward
a December night sky.

Forgotten dreams & present madness is a
scratched vinyl record stuck in the fissure of time;
crackling noise muffling our sighs —
Gone, they say, gone.