Naked on Cashmere

I wrote madly in youth. I wrote because I had so much to see and so much to say. I had to share what I saw in the oranges of the desert nights, the way the drugs made my mind sting, and the pretty girls spun in the youth and dust -- this dream, everything we’d found,  it was ours, and would be forever-- it was easy then, the pen and the paper were two cans on a string to the stars, and I wrote what they told me in all the colors they said--but it’s different now, the purples aren’t as purple, the drugs don’t sting, and the girls dance far away as if ghosts/shadows of some abandoned townthe string to the stars has worn loose, and we the children look at the stars less, for they lied to us, they broke their promise---we did not live forever.  xx Atticus@atticuspoetry www.atticuspoetry.com Other poems read today:"Indian summer" by Dorothy Parker"My Lost Youth" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow