And then I would be like, I should say, Hey!
See it, man? The sun’s setting on us,
and then say, We gotta get outta this place
because our moms would freak — all those days,
just a passing thought blur now, but I know
each stunt could’ve been the last thing we ever did.
Surviving it all, I sit at my desk and type,
my mind straying over music, through the stars.
How our moments go, you know?
I think of an early moon, so clean, always.
So very not the dangerous things we did,
down and dirty stupid, while all the time above,
there’s that pristine angel coin, rolling on forever,
so white among the blues, forgetting all about us.
* * * * *
The word for today is
Use it in some kind of writing, short or long, and post it, linking to me, or simply leave it in the comments below. I would love to read what you write : )