The morning cigarette,
With a cup of igneous coffee,
On an early winter morning,
Alleviates the morning high,
Like the smoke from molten lava.

The immature ride to the vacant highway,
The zephyr gust from the near mountains,
Touches the juvenile jacket
And through the quietus of nature,
The wings inside sails away.

The green undertone of cannabis,
It's a rational sensation,
With every roll the paper silhouettes,
Like a shotgun of peace,
The buds displace on the white face.

The rejuvenating smoke calibrates,
Through the dry pipes,
And layers the ravenous soul,
Like a honey bee,
Pouring the golden sugar,
Into the barren depth of an empty bowl.

Like a centaur with tenacious wings,
Accelerating with the air,
Feeling every loop of a fresh wound,
Riding from north,
And taking the fear out,
Like a first raindrop to hit the ground.

I woke up with gloomy dreams,
A pretty face I remember,
She had the vive of a queen,
While I was the slave of cold December.

Dream again, I ask my heart and mind,
Fading images meant this story's end,
So my eyes wore a sailor's dress,
Searching for a lost pile of sand.

The minutes of that dream shaped my hours dull,
With no awe in this life , I waited for her call,
I became what they call incorrigible,
As this desert heart now needed a last rainfall,

I never asked for her lover's heart,
Just to watch her skip my heartbeat,
Nor craved for those moonlight lips,
As I spend a lifetime watching our eyes meet.

The dream may never come,
Her sunset eyes may never rise,
For the sake of my capacious heart, I still close my eyes,
To live a thousand deaths to once see her blue sunset eyes.