After Hours

Fragrant honeysuckle

wakens my senses.

I am first to say,

good morning,

when the bees come out.

Industrious creatures,

their very existence at stake,

and at the whim of a

chemical god.

Be honest,

you only thought in lusty kisses.

I was your sparkly beauty,

and after hours,

your strength of will

waned.

After my artistry,

after reality,

this is life.

Pretty things

lose shape, and dull

over time.

Did you not think

of tomorrow?

I did. I still do.

I live and like the age I become,

daily,

as the world turns round and round,

and time though linear,

sweats up a storm

as we sight

the continuum .

Be honest.

You did not remember me,

did you?

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