One Hundred and Forty-Three.


Izzy circle


sunsets on beaches flooded with millions of couples holding hands
running hand in hand, tripping on flowing pastel kaftans and sarongs
maybe some horses as props
maybe some people on horses just for good measure

noon in glass cities bursting with thousands of tin-drum buskers
banging heads of luscious hair, bodies rolling with the beat
maybe some caps filled with silver
maybe some crowds pushing closer to complete the picture

sunrise in warehouses crowded with hundreds of ravers pointing skyward
dancing like it’s still 1999, swaying like the tallest poppies ever seen
maybe some smoke machines
maybe some petrol generators to set the scene

midnight in a forest empty of everyone but these two humans
sitting in trees, reaching across the gaps in the branches
maybe some frogs singing softly
maybe some moonlight to fill in the silhouettes


Sarah circle


Quick! Find a book and press me between the pages
Slam the cover shut and stand on me for a week
Let my fluids leak out between the paragraphs
Fold me out flattened and coffin me in glass
I’ll hang on the wall for half of forever
I’ll never be this happy again



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