We walk, talk, a million miles an hour
Do everything not by half, discotheque rather
Flighty sons-a-guns, unable for anything else
Drenched by these wide right open crystallised skies – step on into the light
When did we ever get to slow the whole pace down, place a muzzle upon each ‘n’ every last drug-dealer ‘friend’ of ours!? Good question, thought I
Her usually blue-sky eyes darkened by the time I got to lean on over and ask
Basking then bathing
Before finally dropping my looser than loose hand, falling rather solemnly off the face of our only earth by the all too saddened end

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