Curse

it is morning

defined 

by linen against soft skin

wet grass 

and an orange sunrise

quiet 

from the west

to the east 

a bus is parked 

this will be

the first 

and the last 

dance 

we'll share 

I'll be wearing pink

riding high on a childhood dream

waltzing 

like it's 1945

the east is enveloped in blue dark

the plane that carries you

diving into the abyss 

while the west appears to be engulfed in flames

a simple view from the deck

of a slow moving boat