Cipher | VII.V |

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I feel like I'll burst
these encased pyrotechnics
lovers talk by harleys
fire glows from flutes
smoke mingles with pine
and dark grace enters
through an open doorway
sticky tables in the mountains
and a fine layer of dirt
their tails stay clean
blowing from head and chin
the health inspector can piss off
I'll roll you one
get me another Ferrari, will ya?
there's love in the attic
only I know about
a bacchanal down below
silver, chrome, steel, and gold
coronating the kaleidoscopic black
bare heads are legal in this state,
right?