absolutely beautiful

 

like a sea gull gliding
across a chilled
winter's
morning
sky

like the unfettered
laughter of a child
living in their
imagination

like an old guitar propped up
in the corner
dreaming of
Segovia

like sunlight keeping it's
secrets as it falls across
a dirty wooden
floor

like the promise of love
suffocating under the
weight of it's
own bloated
passion

like a bottle of 200 year old
Grand Constance sitting
on a dusty shelf
somewhere in
France waiting
for Napoleon's
thirsty
lips

like seeing you for
the first
time

cigarette in one hand,
phone in the
other.

talking to the gods as
easily as souls
burn in
hell