In so many months,
We walk down to the café,
Pick up a vanilla latte,
And a bunch of lillies from the florist.
Your silken hair,
Brush past your rose-tinted lips,
Like a beam of light.
The sun shines like it used to,
The girls look like they used to,
The air as electric as it used to be,
Like the World was shroom-crazed in itself.
You ask me if I could pick up oranges,
Helpless as I am, I say,
‘A thousand times over’,
As I watch you.