Monday, June 23, 2014
no light save the low glow of the television screen,
so no sound save our own.
the bitter naive early play of our guitars,
late hours of escape, no company save our own,
no money, no reasons, no fancy phones...just
small nights in the summer
existing purely for the joy of forgetting,
the soft darkness washing all the walls
hard strumming and fingers sore, steel strings,
passing the hard hours for the late night
trying purely for the joy of forgetting
and remembering perhaps not to.