moving

[saw]

yellowed love lingers
a bitter vetch
no matter how you boil it

the seasonings of a traveler
swirl 'round , try to make lies
taste better, sweeten the pot as they say

but sugary nonsense is unable to mask
the acrid betrayal on the tongue
your mushroom cloud especiale'

you put the crook in crooked,
makes our time together
moot, even in its zoot suit

I was plenty thirsty,
thought I saw palm trees blowing
up ahead across the hot sand

but when I reached my early vision
there was only the perfume of a vanquished oasis,
and my lips were still on fire

[the mingo]

[dadio]

Wow kind of poem. Fine work.

[constantine]

even in a zoot suit, it still wears thin. nice!