Where are we with our winter scarves and bad decisions?
We've flown ourselves to California.
We painted the ocean and leapt from bridges
With memories around our ankles
Like hard bound story books.
Where are we with our ink stained fingers and leather jackets--
Our frigid laughter painting fog-speak in the sky?
We stand tall like candles
Warmed from the Santa Ana,
And resolved
Like codas
Atop intricate compositions.
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