leftover stains of passing summer's rhythm seen in yellow autumn leaves
memories of honey soaked lady blue as you walk on sidewalks once seduced
by jazz and hipsters who sought after children of war still interested in candy
who haven't walked too far down hell's steps to still remember what it felt like
when warmth wasn't torture and nothing felt more heavenly than to sin with
foxy brown on Thursday nights after tasting the end of chocolate aphro-hypno
and a need to understand why Miles was so inspired by champagne blamed bruises
and rouge lips as the of author d'evils once said so charasmatic during hazy day sunlit
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