I miss the easy days. The layin' out under blue sky, high breezy days that strike mind as hardly fleeting as the last weeks before the seasons change. Before the sun runs out of juice and we can still squeeze rays that brighten, tinge horizons orange, before freezing rain replaces thunderstorms, dropping stings that strike skin spitefully instead of lightenin'. Afternoons that bled into twilights when me and you would lay, fit together better than a two-pack of plastic spoons, watch the pinky-nail moon hurtle itself around us, and ourselves plummet between pinpricks in the velvet ceiling.
