Impermance on Fixed Display

"Pink with the candescence, Of hot flesh— The clouds are my candlelit bath. Drifting, easy, on; Impermanence on fixed display. Why is it never enough? Polychromatic sweetness; It fades, day in, Day out. Why do I wish to encase it, anyway? I should be more like the sky— No resentment, Of inevitable endings..." Burrowing into the past, with the intimacy of words, to celebrate the journey. And et voilà: Poems and that kind of thing from ages 17-25. (Writer's note: Nobody else can tell you how to liberate your seconds or romanticise your life, and overthinking it is an irony!).