The Wonders of a Smeared Blue Sky
the wonders of a smeared blue sky
Thoughts of the midsummer morning, waking to the cold breath, the wonders of a smeared blue sky. Aye, my fluent mental unrest, advised by the weather, making my wanting, to bury my morning flounder, with a glass of cold imaginary Rye.
No shaking, forgetting this coherent mood, one of choking, tedious ranting, dark blue eyes, starring, searching for the victim, to blame, for this personnel disparaging rise.
Then the crash, memory shaken. Blond golden hair, last nights raise, did she pass. Eyes and lips smiling, nothing die we ask. Walking slowly, table mound, stating slowly, greeting rebound.
Ah we the men of old. Coffee grown cold. Remembering slightly, secretly wishing. Past gone wishes, the ones lived with known, beloved Missives. Reminiscing the once bold ways, Hormones flayed, Ah, said again, this memory has made me young again.
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