Lazy spring afternoon, by the vending machine you saw, a dark cloud like Snow White's hair turn around,
A big bill and lots of soda cans, how silly the spirit was but your smile met your eyes,
Spirit walks like wind, looks up with cautious eyes, scared to catch a gaze to astound,
What does the spirit really think? What does the spirit really feel? You don't still yet wish to bid the byes.
No one knows,
no one ever will,
not you even,
your all my moments only mine,
from hot summers’ vending machine beverages to lonely moonlit night to freezing beers.
-Your bitter fleabane.
