frolicking on the ruins

the golden orb overtook the bragging tropical sunset. dust settled around the camp fire. stories and brandy and cheep vodka and swirls of swollen kneecaps and undigested information. brown sky morning. sound guy warning. breathing by the pinhole in your bag. wondering where she's from and where she went. ice cream parlor lights yellowing this summer's eve. lamb faced moths and flies and foreign objects fluttering. the counter top wiped and clean. clean like the back of her neck. you're staring. a few strands of the sweet, sweaty hair subtly clinging to her bronzed colleged neck. campfire again. bad company, good vibration baby. the smoke grasping at the night air, slicked and slacked, back around the bend. the days of pinioned pontoons. frolicking on the ruins.