A slow-burn, simplistic existence,
unwavering in its unsteadiness.
Sometimes, hours last minutes;
and some minutes-hours.
A book read by candlelight,
a slow dance in the full-moon’s light.
A red-eye flight,
under star speckled night sky.
A slow-burn, simplistic existence.
Vinyl record on the turntable,
the final minutes of a sunset,
long Friday nights out,
rainy days inside the house.
Painted skies and deep seaside eyes,
warm July’s, adventures improvised.
red painted lips and finger tips,
uncomplicated, the world transfixed.
A slow-burn simplistic existence.
Harmonies, melodies, and broken chords,
nickel strings and rosewood fingerboards.
Sounds percolate, life’s symphony resonates,
as i spend my day the simple way.
Simple
A slow-burn, simplistic existence