sepia

Now  
has always felt like the old times.  
And I see  
white blips on the film  
preliminarily,  
flickers,  
and listen  
always  
to the hiss of true tape.  
 
I regard my present  
as a time capsule.  
Here I am,  
giggling  
forbidden  
inside,  
underground,  
waiting for wrinkly-faced me  
to remember.  
 
At first I did think  
things were tinted rose -  
that is how I tend to see them,  
stopping not only to smell  
but to breathe them in,  
petaled kisses to the nose,  
and to stare down  
the thorns  
with admiration  
and more.  
 
But that blue sky  
sung straight from Ella  
is more honest,  
more certain,  
not hiding behind  
the smooth or slicing kinds  
of beauty.  
And it took no time to grow,  
to bloom.  
 
I do believe I'm living in sepia.  
How fiery warm the good times move!