Coming from
Ghost plumes.
Moonlit skin
Moving and glowing,
Laughing and throwing
Words like beer cans.
All in his sweatshirt.
Moon drenched rocks
On top of the world,
Watching the black
Sparkle in gold.
Wind blows
Up here
Its cold
Outside his sweatshirt.
Sweet ghost fumes dance in the moon
Above the dark sparkling world.
All this on his sweatshirt,
All this on me,
Polluting my memory.