Timeless escapades,
and I’m caught in
this resistance,
that overwhelms,
that blows,
egregious wasteland
set to the tune
of my humdrum
mind.
Oblique and effervescent,
a potion of quiet torment
at every cross section
of mid-town,
with sacrilege dialogue,
beastly encounters,
and the warmest
of hugs.
Sweet, supple kisses.
Even you, taste honey-roasted
on your tongue.
Swapped for sugar.
Trash the gun.
petrichor - archive 