Planes
This is how it felt, Golden, the planes storming above our heads; treading the path of bridges burnt while they strung their chords
an opera of booms and cloud
your eye, blue, blue of green lagoons and tiny paradises
Funny it usually remains singular
But nostalgia doubles down, multiplies everything
Free writing this , free riding you
The easiest i’ve ever done i’ve ever felt
A song comes on the song of my fourteen years
stung in love and here i am
stung again, perhaps ?