As the night grows cold I’m left with thoughts of flutterby kisses
and soft simple wishes, long walks on summers beaches.
Holding hands,sand, sunsets and Irish bands
all the things I have no more.
Electric light consumes my night and not a muse left to be found.
As I walk in my minds delight
I’m brought back to faces and place things that have gone before
of carefree days and all night talks, bottles of scotch, summer sword fights.
Speaking in Latin just because we can. Playing in paint until the canvas cried in jealousy.
I was the butterfly king, covered from head to toe dripping with drink and warmed by the sun. Those were the days…and these are there knights.