The evening tastes different.
Look, it's dark. Look, it's pale.
Look, it's strangely soothing.
Ghosts curl together in the stomach
and laugh
Oh! The din. The riot.
A hundred horses gallop.
You are still there, distant.
Still sweet.
So annoying.
Tickle.
A big lump in the throat.
You sing a happy, haunting song.
---
All things stale and Biprorshee
