Saturday, October 20, 2012

California Dreaming


Boys with polariod cams and fur coats and feathered hair.
And a sunny splat of boulevard that stretch the entirety of my vision.
The night was Friday
and the lustful waves of dusk was a batting of drums,
an ancient ritual when teenagers and young adults
come out at night to play and smoke weed and shag boys
and do crazy stuff with other teenagers and young adults.
A blanket of stars slowly kisses the day away
and the shy moon glows silently in the East.
Your motorcycle is a monster at night.
And it's engine was the solitary serenade the desert sings.
Your leather jacket, studded,
an inglorious banner, waves through the air
as I watched you travel that sunny splat of boulevard that stretch the entirety of my vision.
Boys with polariod cams and fur coats and feathered hair began dancing
and I, too, danced as a pillar of fire burns the last few streaks of wood we gathered earlier.
Charcoal and smoke filled the air.

My attempts at dreamy poetry

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